Meant to be Known
by Decadebaby
Summary: I am a bit haunted by the recent episodes Tamerlane and Face the Nation. This piece is a reflection on the events surrounding Elizabeth from a different point of view. I am amazed by the stellar writing of the show, but sometimes wish we could peek in-between scenes and see how other characters are managing things. Reviews are greatly appreciated.
1. Chapter 1

"_Say what you will, but the time that we fill while we're on the earth,_

_should not be alone. We were meant to be known. You make me what I'm worth."_

_-Jon McLaughlin_

ALISON MCCORD had never liked birthday parties. She hated the way everyone was focused in on her. It felt too stressful to have to smile and nod, while everyone in the room leaned in to see if you liked your present or your cake. It was too much.

Her mother had figured this out on her sixth birthday. The family generally referred to it as the Table Birthday. She'd been overwhelmed by all the people - her parents had invited her whole class - and also by the acrobats. She'd really liked gymnastics at the time and so her parents had brought out the staff of the local gym to perform stunts and teach the kids some tricks. It was all too much.

And so she had gone inside the house saying she needed to use the bathroom but had instead crawled under the dining room table and prayed everyone would leave her alone. It was her little brother who found her and she shooed him away but recognized that the three year old could not be trusted to keep his mouth shut. The next thing she knew her parents had crawled under the table with her. Her mother sat crossed-led in front of her; her father, his shoulders hunched just to her left.

"Everything ok, Noodle?" He'd asked.

"Yes, thank you for my party."

She always tried to remember to say "please" and "thank you". Her mother always did and more than anything she wanted to be just like her.

"Do you want to come out?" Her mother asked. "Julia is here."

Julia was her favorite gymnastics teacher. She had bright green eyes and a long, long braid of blond hair.

"Umm. . ." She didn't want to tell her mother no, but she also didn't want to leave the safety of the table.

"Noodle," Her father said scooting closer. "Mama got you a cake with pink frosting and yellow flowers. It's very pretty. You want to go see it?"

"Henry . . ." Her mother said.

"No, thank you." She whispered politely. She felt suddenly tired. She wanted to crawl into her bed with her bear and for everyone to go home.

"Ali, I have an idea. How about you and me and Daddy go up to your room and have your birthday cake there- just us three?" Her mom leaned close and Alison could smell the sweet scent of her perfume.

"But there's a party." Alison said softly. "It's a nice party."

Her mother raised an eyebrow at her and sat back, looking over at her father as she did.

"Well, it is a nice party and everyone is having fun." He admitted softly. "That's the nice thing about parties, Noodle. You get to do what you want to do. What about you? What do you want to do?"

"Mommy worked all week." She chewed at her lower lip. "She stayed up late making party bags."

"I did, baby, and they are all finished. Your friends can take one home. I'm done with all that work so now I can spend the party with you." She said smiling.

"So, why don't we go upstairs to your room?" Her father asked. "Okay?"

"Okay."

They crawled out from under the table together. She immediately reached for her mother's hand but her mother had lifted her up into her arms, carrying her upstairs.

They ate cake at her little art table, and then her mother had painted her fingernails -pink with purple polka dots. Her father had gone downstairs to check on the party and to make sure Stevie and the baby were alright. Their babysitter, Ellie was at the party too, to keep an eye on Jason so her mother wouldn't have to be worried.

"Do you want to open your presents?" Her mother asked, as she carefully painted the fingers of her left hand.

"I've so many toys already." She glanced around her room.

"You do." Her mother agreed.

"I was thinking about the kids at that house." She had gone with her mother to take clothes to a shelter last week. They usually did it four or five times a year.

"What house honey?"

"Where we took the old, good clothes."

"Oh! The shelter. What about it?" Her mother paused, the nail polish brush in her hand.

"We could take the presents there. There wasn't any toys."

"Alison Grace!" Her mother's voice had sounded funny. "You are such a kind and generous person!"

"But can I keep the doll and the dress you and daddy got me?"

"Of course." Her mother leaned close, kissing her forehead.

In the end, it had been the nicest birthday. She loved the little party with her mom and dad. She'd LOVED painting her Dad's fingernails a pale pink. He smiled holding them out and wiggling his fingers at her. "They are just lovely." He'd said while her mother laughed and laughed. It wasn't until, they were tucking her into bed that she'd been brave enough to whisper the truth.

"Mama, big parties are kind of scary."

"They are, aren't they?" Her mother said, sitting on the edge of the bed.

"Maybe when I'm seven, they won't be scary anymore." She considered thoughtfully.

"Well, I'm a lot bigger than seven, and I still think that big parties are scary." She said. "And Daddy is way, way, way older than seven and he thinks big parties are scary too."

"You do?" She glanced up her father.

"I do. So, maybe next time we can have a party with just us."

She smiled at this, and scrunched down in her warm bed. "Thank you!"

"Happy birthday, Noodle." Her mother kissed her cheek. "I can't believe you are six!"

She never had another party after that.

Sometimes she'd have two friends over but that was it. And instead of presents, each year she would pick a charity and everyone would give money to it.

She'd expected the same to be true of her sixteenth birthday. While her new school friends threw huge elaborate parties, she was looking forward to the regular birthday traditions: birthday pancakes, her favorite dinner, a laffy string war and her family. Instead, she'd spent the whole time pleading with God to bring her mother home from Iran. She'd sat huddled with her sister and father in the big bed watching the news and waiting. She'd never been so terrified in her entire life. All she could think about was how safe she felt in her mother's arms. She snuggled down in the bed, her mother's perfume still on the pillows.

By the time they got the phone call, her birthday had come and gone. She and Stevie had wrapped their arms around their father as he'd wept. She'd never seen him cry like that - deep sobs that shook his whole body. And later, when he'd sent them to get some sleep, she hadn't gone to her room. She'd followed Stevie to her room, and had silently crawled into bed next to her sister - as if she were little and terrified from a bad dream.

It had been a few hours later, that she'd crawled out of bed and tip-toed down the hall to the bathroom. She'd stopped dead in her tracks at the sound of her father crying - stunned that he was _still_ crying.

"But you're okay?" She heard him choke out and she realized he was talking to her mom on the phone.

Ashamed even as she did it, she moved closer to her parent's bedroom, leaning against the half-closed door listening.

"Babe, no,I can meet you . . .sweetheart? You're okay, right? They didn't . . .Elizabeth, sweetheart, you aren't hurt?"

She wished she could hear her mother's voice. She wished her mother was home and had never gone to Iran.

"Shh, ok. It's okay. Elizabeth, baby, it's okay."

She wiped a hand over her face, realizing that it was wet with tears. Her father sounded so sad.

"Okay, honey. No, just do what the doctor says. I'll be right here. You'll be home soon. Just. . ." He choked on a sob. "Hang in there, baby. You'll be home soon. I love you. It's going to be okay. Elizabeth? I love you."

She turned to go back to her sister's room, forgetting all about the bathroom and was shocked to see Stevie standing in the middle of the hallway, her face white with stress. They climbed back into Stevie's bed.

"He said, 'doctor'. Mom was hurt?" Stevie whispered.

"I guess. But she was talking to him so it can't be too bad, right?" She sighed. "It didn't sound good, did it?"

"Dad's just worried. He doesn't like it when he can't see her."

"That's true." Ali snuggled down under the covers. "I wish we could have heard her voice."

"Yeah." Stevie agreed.

"What time?"

"He said early afternoon, maybe." Stevie sighed. "I'm never gonna sleep."

"Me either." She glanced at the clock. "Jason will be up soon. What are we going to tell him?"

"Nothing."

"But Dad is crying! Jason is gonna freak out."

"Dad will pull it together." Stevie said. "What else was he saying?"

"I don't know. It sounded like he was trying to . . . She must have been crying." Alison sighed heavily. "Stevie, I think I'm going to throw up."

Stevie threw back the covers. "C'mon. Bathroom."

It was somewhat embarrassing to have her older sister lead her down the hall and into the bathroom. Stevie held her hair back as she threw up. The images they'd seen on the news mixed with the sound of her father crying overwhelmed her. She slumped beside the toilet as Stevie handed her a wet washcloth.

"Better?" Stevie asked, sitting across from her.

"No." Alison said, suddenly filled with an aching sorrow. "I want Mom!"

"Yeah," Stevie agreed.

"Is she sick?" They both looked up startled to see their father standing in the doorway. "Noodle? Are you alright?"

"I'm fine." She lied. "It's okay, Dad." She rose slowly and reaching down pulled Stevie up.

"It's okay, hon." He said wrapping an arm around her. "She'll be home by evening."

"I know." She sighed. "I just kept thinking about everything and I wish . . .I can't stop thinking about her." She shrugged her shoulders. "It's so easy for someone to hurt her. I never thought about it before. The thing is, she's a lot smaller than she seems, you know?"

"Yeah," He nodded his head. "I know exactly what you mean. C'mon. Back to bed." He led them down the hall.

But none of them had gone to bed. Instead they'd gone downstairs and Ali had busied herself cooking. She made an omelette and French toast and a quiche. Her father sat listlessly on the couch staring into space. She'd handed him a cup of coffee.

"Maybe you should go lie down." She told him.

"No. I can't sleep." He rubbed his eyes. "What time is it?"

"4:17." Stevie said looking up from where she sat at the kitchen table. "Dad, what are we going to tell Jason?"

"I . . .uh. . ." It wasn't like him to be unsure and it unnerved her. She glanced at Stevie.

"We should just say that she is coming home. And that she was in Iran and things got dangerous so she came back." She offered.

"That's good." He smiled at her. "Thank you, Noodle."

She smiled at him and sank into the other side of the couch. She glanced down realizing suddenly that she'd accidentally my sat on her mother's back-up glasses. She held them gingerly in her fingers trying to imagine them in her mother's hands. She was always looking for her glasses. She had about four pairs that she left all over the house, and yet, when she needed them she could never find them. They teased her about it all the time. She glanced at her father, who was looking at the glasses in her fingers. He took them from her, and folded them setting them reverently on the end table.

"I, uh, I was able to talk to her for a minute." He offered softly.

"Is she okay?" Stevie asked breathlessly.

"She's not hurt badly. We couldn't talk long." He swallowed twice. "She has some, uh, cuts and bruises. She has stitches on her back. So be careful."

"She's hurt?" Alison felt her eyes fill with tears.

"She's okay." He emphasized, reaching out and squeezing her arm. "She's coming home to us. She'll be okay."

He promised that she was alright, but of course, she wasn't.


	2. Chapter 2

ALLISON MCCORD recognized that despite her father's promises otherwise, her mother was not okay. She wasn't anywhere close to it. She was thin and jumpy. She snapped at everyone. Alison would wake in the middle of the night and hear her pacing or playing that stupid video game. Her eyes were clouded and she didn't smile or tease with their Dad. And she never ate anything.

Alison stayed back, quiet and watching. She felt anxious and unsure of her mother's unpredictable moods. She had been caught in her mother's inexplicable wrath more than once, and so she nervously avoided interacting with her. It made her unbelievably sad. She had prayed and longed for her mother's return, and now she kept her distance. She was really sleeping well herself, and had flunked both a math test, and an English paper. She was not looking forward to her mother's reaction to these bad grades. She put off having them signed as long as possible. Things seemed to be getting worse and worse. And then the same day that Jason started public school, their Dad had come home early.

"Come on." He said, sticking his head in her doorway. "Downstairs. Family Counsel."

She had a sinking feeling in the pit of her stomach and she'd reluctantly followed him downstairs. Her parents would jokingly call Family Counsel from time to time - the last time being to discuss her mother's new job. Family Counsel never really seemed to be good news - they never gathered them together and said, "Guess what kids, we are going to Disneyland!"

She entered the front room to find her brother and sister already there. Jason sat on the window seat, an angry scowl on his face. Stevie sat across from him on the couch. She raised a questioning eyebrow at her sister, but she only shook her head.

"Mom's not here." She observed, turning to look at her father. They had never had a Family Counsel without her.

"She's at work." His brusque reply intensified her anxiety.

"Well, this isn't a real Family Counsel, is it?" She said suddenly angry.

"Alison, calm down." Stevie said. "Don't be a baby."

"Why don't you shut up!" She spat back angrily.

"Why don't you both shut up!" Jason told them.

"Alright, enough!" Their father said. "You guys want to knock it off?" He raised his eyebrows at them. "You think maybe we could keep it together, huh? I've got some stuff we need to . . ." Alison looked up sharply, as her father's voice caught in his throat. Her unreasonable anger suddenly replaced by fear.

"Dad?" She asked. "What is going on?"

"I thought we should talk." He said moving to stand in front of the couch. "C'mon and sit down, Noodle."

She sank down onto the couch next to Stevie and looked over at Jason, who still had a furious glare on his face.

"Why are you so mad?" She asked Jason. He had left for school after her, and hadn't said a word since coming home. She had fully expected him to be bragging about the glorious freedom of public school, but when she'd asked him about it, he'd just shrugged his shoulders.

"Ask mom." He answered bitterly.

"Jason, enough. Okay? I said you just need to give it time." Her father's voice was sharp and brittle. He sighed heavily, and then continued. "Look, your Mom's not . . ." He rubbed the back of his neck. "Some hard things happened over there, Jason. And it isn't easy to just come home and go back to life the way it was, okay?"

A heavy silence hung in the room, and Alison felt all the difficulties of the last few days rising to the surface. She could see the loneliness and hurt reflected in her brother and sister's eyes. Her father seemed thin and rumpled. He seemed completely alone. She tried to remember back to the time when everything was alright - when her father seemed content, and her mother at peace. Suddenly, it seemed impossible to keep all the secrets hidden inside.

"She doesn't eat." She burst out. "She just pushes the food around on the plate and throws it out when you aren't looking."

"Alison, don't . . ." Stevie began, but stopped as her father held up a hand, silencing her.

"She doesn't?"

"No. She just wants you to think she does."

"Yeah?" Her dad asked with raised eyebrows. "I thought maybe she was eating at least with us."

"No." Stevie agreed, with a sigh. "Ali is right. She just pretends."

"And she doesn't sleep." Alison added. "At least, I don't think she does."

"She paces up and down the hall." Jason added. "All night."

They all studied him, waiting. He was the one who had called the meeting. Surely, _he_ was aware of how she'd been acting. No one knew her mother like he did. Her parents were completely and happily united. There was no way, he could be unaware of her behavior. She watched his face, realizing suddenly that he was just as lost and confused as she was. Her stomach seemed to turn to ice, and her heart sank. She was waiting to hear his solution. She was waiting for him to say that everything was going to be alright. Instead, he rubbed his eyes with his fingers, clearly stressed - clearly fighting tears.

"Well, uh," He cleared his throat.

"Dad?" Stevie said leaning forward. "Dad, she's going to be okay." But it came out as a question, and Alison's felt her hands tightened into fists, so stressed that she could hardly breathe.

"Yeah." He agreed nodding his head, but nothing in his voice was convincing. "I just wanted to talk about it." He cleared his throat. "Because Jason, I know you are really angry, and I'm not saying you are wrong, but there are things you don't understand. "

"Dad, I get that things are complicated, but I've got a freakin' giant following me around school."

"She made you get security?" Alison looked up surprised. No wonder he was ticked.

"Son, this isn't really about you. Your mom needs for you to have protection right now, okay? I know it isn't something you want, and I understand you don't think you need it. In fact, you don't need it, but _she_ needs you to have it. I need you to do it for her, son."

Jason said nothing, but settled back into the window seat, his eyes studying his shoes.

Her father turned to her, "And Noodle, you can't carry around all this stress. It doesn't help her if _you _stop eating, okay? Mr. Miller called me today. They are worried about you at school."

"What?" Alison looked up surprised. "He didn't say anything to me about calling."

"You flunked a paper, hon. You've never even earned a 'B'. People noticed." Their father said, quietly. "Look, things are pretty tough right now. But we have to be patient. She deserves us being patient, right Jason?"

"I didn't say she didn't." He answered defensively. "Look, I'm not an idiot! I can tell she's upset, I guess, but what the hell happened, Dad?"

Alison wanted to ask the exact same thing and glancing at Stevie she knew her older sister felt the same way. Everything they knew about Iran, they'd pieced together from news reports and overheard conversations. It wasn't much and yet it was pretty bad.

"She can't . . ." Their Dad swallowed again, clearly upset. "It's hard to talk about, okay?" He studied their faces and sat down in a chair across from then. "I can't even . . .it's hard for _me_ to think about." He rubbed a hand over his face, but then looking up said gently, "You know what happened to Agent Cole, right?"

"He died." Jason said quietly. "He died in Iran."

"Yes."

They all stared at their father, waiting for more information, but he remained silent, and Alison thought about Agent Cole. He was always really nice. You could tell by the way he smiled at their mom that he really like her - as a person. She'd seen him laugh at something her mother said more than once. She always appreciated people who understood her mother's sense of humor. She could tell that her mom wasn't just a "job" to him. Of course, thinking about him now, was unsettling because she suddenly realized something that she hadn't thought about until now.

"He was always right next to her." Alison said softly. "Dad? He always stood closest to her. Everywhere she went."

"He was her body man." Jason added thoughtfully, understanding. "That's what they call it. Dad?" He looked over at his father, his eyes wide, and his face filled with fear. Alison fought the urge to go to him, and wrap her arms around him, like he was still nine.

"So," Their father said without actually confirming what they were implying. Instead he continued on in the same soft, strained voice. "Things are kind of tough right now."

"Jesus, Dad! You can't just blow past that." Jason stood his fists balled in anger. "You are telling us, that he's dead - that Agent Cole is dead and if he wasn't dead she'd be . . . that because he's dead, she isn't."

"Jason!" Stevie said, rising and going to him. "C'mon, man. You are talking about, Mom, okay. Go easy on Dad." She reached out, putting an arm around his shoulders. Alison fully expected him to shake her off like he always seemed to do lately, but instead he turned toward her, burying his face in his older sister's shoulder, his quiet sobs filled the tense room.

She looked up at her father who stood frozen, his shoulders hunched, his face down. He looked so tired, and sad. He looked so lonely. She pushed herself up from the couch and stood hesitantly in front of him. "It'll be okay, Dad." She said softly, reaching out and holding on to his hand. "We can be patient. You don't have to worry about us. You just stay focused on mom, okay?"

"Yeah." Stevie agreed. "Time fixes most everything, right? Isn't that what Benjamin Franklin said?"

"It was Aristotle." Ali corrected her. "And he said that 'all good things take time - including the healing of a heart.' Right, Dad?"

"Yes. Aristotle." His voice was flat but he looked up, at last, meeting her eyes.

"So, we will give her time." Jason said matter-of-factly, wiping his face with the back of his hand.

"Okay." They watched as he nodded his head, and drawing in a deep breath opened his mouth to speak, but said nothing - his face still tight with stress.

"It's okay, Dad." She said wrapping her arms around him. "You are doing such a good job of taking care of her. We can help, too, okay?" He hugged her fiercely to him, and she felt her sister's arms around her and looking up realized that they were all hugging him. She kept glancing up over her shoulder, worried that her Mom would walk in any minute and become suspicious. But she didn't. She wasn't home for dinner or before bedtime. She wasn't home when Ali woke up around midnight. She knew this because she could see her father sitting at his desk, his computer screen bright in front of him. But the keys were quiet because he wasn't really working on his book; he was waiting.


	3. Chapter 3

The day after Family Counsel, she stepped out into the bright sunshine after school to find Stevie waiting for her.

"What are you doing here? I usually . . ."

"C'mon." Stevie said interrupting. She followed her sister and found Jason waiting in the car. She climbed into the backseat, as Stevie got in, but she didn't start the car. She turned sideways in her seat facing them.

"Mom is home." Stevie delivered matter of factly.

"It's 3:15." Alison said, completely stunned.

"What happened?" Jason asked.

"She wasn't . . . She doesn't feel well."

"You mean like a cold? Does she have the flu?" Alison asked.

She glanced at Jason who was pushing buttons on his phone. She knew he was googling their mom. It was the simplest way to get real information.

"What the hell? Stevie, did Mom have a heart-attack?" Jason burst out.

"Oh my God!" Panic flooded her system.

"No. No!" Stevie answered firmly. "No. She _thought_ she was having a heart attack so they took her to the hospital but it wasn't. So now she's home and she's okay."

"Well, what was it?" Jason asked.

Stevie rubbed her forehead with her hand, clearly reluctant to answer.

"Stevie!" Alison burst out. "What?"

"It was a panic attack."

They sat in the car in completely silence. Alison tried to think of a single thing to say, but decided to just surrender and say what she had been keeping inside her since the night of the Family Counsel. She glanced at her little brother, trying to determine if it would be wrong to include him.

"She has PTSD." She said flatly, and they both turned to stare at her.

"Ali," Stevie began.

"What? I looked it up. You did too! I saw it on your computer. It makes sense! Mood swings. Unexplained anger. Not sleeping. Panic attacks! Those are all symptoms. Mom has been doing all those things since she got back from Iran."

"PTSD?" Jason asked. "But, like that's what soldiers get." The look on his face felt like a punch in the gut, and she regretted just blurting everything out like she did. He was still so young. He was still the baby.

"She _was_ in a battle." Alison she explained trying to be gentle at first, but then fell back on the easiest version of their relationship. "Dude, why are you being so stupid?"

"Why are you being such a jerk?" He shot back angrily.

"Alright! Knock it off! You are both being stupid. You are just upset. We are all upset, ok?" Stevie told them.

"But PTSD is bad." Jason said. "The people who go crazy and . . ."

"No!" Stevie interrupted fiercely. "No. That isn't true and all those cases involve people who have severe PTSD that has been untreated."

"She's right. Tons of people have it and are fine. I read about it. They take anti-anxiety pills to help when they get stressed and they are ok."

"Pills? Mom?" Jason eyes were huge. "She won't even take aspirin!"

"He's got a point." Alison said looking over at Stevie. "What does Dad say?"

"That she's going to be okay. That we need to be patient." Stevie shrugged. "That we need to give them some space today."

"Right." Alison said. "As if wishing mom is okay makes it true."

"Geez, Ali, give him a break. She's his best friend, you know that. He loves her, and she's . . ." Stevie said angrily.

"She's a mess." Jason said quietly. "What are we supposed to do, then?"

"I don't know. Mom's embarrassed about it. You know how she gets. It would be good if we could just leave them alone."

"We could go to the movies or something?" Jason suggested.

"The press is over there." Alison said pointing at the small cluster of cars in the distance. "Geez, they are watching us right now. Do they know?"

"They know she went to the hospital and then home." Stevie sighed.

"So, we can't go anywhere." Alison slumped in her seat.

"Imagine the crap they'd print if we were hanging around an arcade." Jason said. "Bunch of assholes."

"She survives Iran - saving the world from nuclear disaster and they gotta print that she went to the ER while her heartless children went out for ice cream." Stevie said bitterly. They had researched it - she and Stevie- trying somehow to figure out just what had happened to their mom. She glanced at Jason to see if he reacted to Stevie's outburst but he didn't seem to pay attention to what she said about Iran.

"Well, this sucks." Alison said. "I change my vote. Let's stay on the farm."

"Yeah!" Jason agreed.

"I guess home then." Stevie said turning around and turning the key over. "But lets make ourselves invisible, huh?"

"You can hang in my room if you want." Jason voice was soft and anxious. "I'll even clear a spot so you can do your homework, nerd."

"Thanks, jerk." Alison said giving him a gentle punch in the arm.

They spent the day hiding out in Jason's room. They played video games and watched movies on Jason's little tv. At one point, their father had stuck his head in the doorway.

"Hey, guys." He said. "You okay?"

"Sure." They lied, seeing that it was the answer that he needed them to give. The look of relief that passed over his face, gave her the strength she needed to keep it together. They didn't see or hear from their mother at all. It was late in the evening that she'd heard the doorbell, and listened to her father's voice as he spoke with someone outside. She thought maybe she'd heard her mother's voice later that night, but was too sleepy to really focus and instead fell asleep.

For whatever reason, things got a little bit worse and a little a bit better after that day. Things were better because her mother was home a little bit more. She blew up less too, and if not her old self, at least closer to it than she'd been since Iran.

But is was worse too. More than once, she had found her mom shaking and crying - for no apparent reason. Her dad was never far away, and she would melt against him, as he wrapped his arms around her.

"It's okay, Elizabeth. It's okay." He would say, waving her away. It always knocked her back into panic. It was almost as if every time things seemed to get better, something would happen and it would get worse again - reminding her that something was really, really wrong with her mom.

Her mom would try and explain it too. She would say things like, "Alison, I know you are worried but . . ." and that's about as far as she would ever get. Instead of making Alison feel better, it filled her with ice cold fear. Her mother _always _had more than enough words to express herself. She was _never_ inarticulate. It freaked her out to see her standing in the kitchen with eyes wide, her hands fluttering as she tried to express herself.

It was just two days later that they sat them all down. It was just like when her Dad had pulled them all together - except this time, her Mom was at the center; a true Family Counsel.

"So," Her Mom began and Ali could hear the anxiety in her mother's voice. "You guys have been so . . ." Her eyes shone bright with tears. "So good and things have been so . . ." Once again, words escaped her, she looked nervously over at her older sister. She couldn't believe how much she had come to rely on Stevie lately.

"It's okay, Mama." Jason said sounding suddenly small.

Her mom brushed at a tear that fell and cleared her throat. "It isn't, sweetheart." She said softly. "I got pretty, um, messed up when I went to Iran. I know Dad talked to you a little, but things were really," She swallowed hard. "Things were very violent and I," she looked up at her father who nodded his head at her.

"Take a breath, babe." He said gently.

Her mother did just that. She paused mid sentence and took in a big gulp of air and exhaled slowly before continuing. "It was violent and I was in the middle of it. You know that people died, including Agent Cole. I'm just having a really hard time because of it all."

Her mother's face was pale, her bright blue eyes downcast. Alison hated to think how much this confession grieved her mother. It hurt to see so much pain in her mother's eyes.

"It isn't your fault." Alison said softly, wanting so badly to fix things. "We are just so glad you came back. It is okay, Mom."

"God, I don't think I can . . ." Her mother turned to look up at her father who kept his arm tight around her shoulders the whole time, his jaw set in a tight, angry line.

"It's okay, babe." He brushed his lips against her forehead. He paused a minute, his eyes closed - and Alison realized that he was saying a quiet prayer before continuing. He opened his eyes and give her a sad smile.

"You guys ever heard of post traumatic stress disorder?" He smiled as he asked this, his voice soft and even, but his face was tight with stress.

"Yes." Stevie answered for them. "We were . . ." She glanced at Ali. "We did some research."

"Huh!" Her mom brushed a tear from her face, giving a half-chuckle and said, "I guess, I really _was_ deluding myself about handling it!"

She shook her head at their Dad and sat down in a chair across from the couch, running a hand through her blond hair. "Look, I'm not . . . Things are a little tough and I'm sorry that I've been so . . . But this thing I've got running through my head is messing me up. I get mad for no reason and I'm sorry about that." She chewed at the corner of her lip as she teared up again.

Alison couldn't bear it. She rose and knelt in front of her Mom, her hands on her knees. "It's not your fault, Mom." She said stressing each word. "And we are fine! We aren't some spoiled brats who can't handle . . ." She glanced at her father who had tears in his eyes. He nodded his head at her in encouragement. "We aren't babies." She smiled at her mother before adding softly, "I'm sixteen."

"You are." Her mother's voice was soft. She reached out and rested her palm against Alison's cheek, kissing her forehead as she did. "You are sixteen and I missed it."

"That's okay." She told her with a smile. "You know I hate birthdays."

"That's right." Her mother actually smiled at this. "You do."

"So, we also needed to talk to you because Mom has to go on Face the Nation and talk about everything that happened." Her father said sitting next to Stevie on the couch. "And it seemed unfair that she would talk about it on tv but not to you."

Jason rose and stood next to their mom, a hand on shoulder. "But why do you have to go on tv? It's nobody's business!" He looked so adorably protective that Alison's heart was filled with love and pride for her annoying little brother.

"It's complicated, Jason." Her mother's voice sounded a little stronger. "You'll appreciate this part - there was a conspiracy."

"President Dalton talked about it. You guys missed it because it was right when Mom got home." Her father explained. "Or did you look it up online?"

Alison glanced at Strvie before saying. "We didn't saying anything to Jason."

"A conspiracy?" Jason's eyes were wide.

"To overthrow leadership in Iran but your Mom." Their father paused, clearly proud. "Well, your Mom stopped it."

"Henry, try and keep some perspective." Alison was so relieved to hear her mother actually laugh. "You are making it sound like I'm Iron Man or something."

"You aren't? You didn't literally throw yourself in the middle of it, babe?"

" I . . ." She began but her breathing became suddenly rapid and her face pale. Her father leapt up crossing the floor and knelt in front of her, bumping Ali out of the way.

"Oh, God! Baby, I'm sorry!" He put his hands on her shoulders. "Just breathe. Slow it down." Alison rose, backing up, frightened.

"Dad?" She asked.

"It's okay." He said. "It's just a panic attack." He turned his attention back to her mother who was leaning forward struggling to take in deep gulps of air. "That's it. It's okay, sweetheart." He rubbed gentle circles on her back. Slowly, her mother's breathing returned to normal. After a long time she sat back, and looked up at them.

"It's . . .okay." Her mother managed breathlessly, after a few minutes. "I'm . . .ok."

"I'm so sorry! I'm such a jackass! I didn't even. . ." Her father said, shame in his voice. "Elizabeth, I'm really sorry."

"Take it easy, Henry. You are scaring them. There's not a lot of predicting it, babe." Her Mom sounded tired and sad, but smiling at her father, she squeezed his hand.

"We're okay." Alison said, trying hard to convince herself it was true.

"Get Mom some water, Jas. Please?" Her father said.

Jason brought her a glass of water and they watched in silence as she sipped it. Her father sat on the arm of the chair, something that her mother normally disapproved of, an arm tight around her shoulders.

"So," Her father continued. "Mom's doing really good." He glanced down at her. Her head was down. "No, babe, c'mon. You are. PTSD is no small thing." He told them. "If you did any research like you said, you know that. And she's fighting her way through it, but talking on Face the Nation is going to be really challenging. And the truth is that all of this," He gave an expansive sweep of his hand. "All of this is no one's business really. I mean this is our family." Her Dad said, squeezing her mother's shoulder.

"So shine on Face the Nation." Jason said angrily. "Let the President burn."

"He didn't plot the conspiracy, Jason." Her mother said. "And you _know_ him. He's a friend."

"We won't talk about it." Alison said seriously. "You don't have to worry about us, leaking something to the press."

"We aren't worried about that, Noodle." Her father said, gently.

"We won't say anything." Stevie agreed.

"We aren't saying that you can't talk about it." Her mother jumped in, her voice suddenly stronger. "You can talk to Dad or me. And if you need to talk to someone else, we can set that up too. There's no," She glanced at their father with a wry grin, "There's no shame in needing help."

"Right." He agreed with a laugh, kissing her forehead.

They all stayed silent watching her and she became self-conscious under their stare. She dipped her head down. "Look, I know that things have been really hard lately and you guys have probably felt like I haven't . . ." She paused, swallowing down tears. "It must have felt like I abandoned you. And I know that I've blown up at you for no reason whatsoever." She glanced at Jason. "I'm sorry about the whole thing at your school, Jason. You are right. It was unfair."

"It wasn't that big of a deal." He said softly. "Actually, it turns out, Kevin was a good way to meet girls. Everyone was always asking how tall he was." He shrugged his shoulders. "It is okay, Mom."

"It wasn't." She said stubbornly. "And I'm sorry for messing up your birthday, Ali. I know this move has been tough enough."

"It was fine, Mom." Alison said softly. "You don't need to feel guilty about us, or anything else."

Silence settled back over the room, but it didn't feel tense anymore. It felt more like home than it had felt since she had left them all.

Remembering that morning, Alison now recognized the look of stress on her father's face, and the awkward way her mother seemed tense and anxious. She hadn't noticed it that day - too caught up in her upcoming birthday to notice the small details - her father's eyes never leaving her mother following her as she moved around the room - her father's hand on her mother's waist never losing contact. The way he had returned to them after she'd left - sad and defeated. It seemed ridiculously obvious now.

She looked at her mother now. She sat in the armchair looking thin and small, her father's arm wrapped around her shoulder. Her heart filled with such love and admiration. She thought about how hard it must have been for her mother to ask for help - to admit to them she was struggling. She was so brave and not just because what had happened in Iran but now, facing up to it and accepting that it had left deep wounds on her. She thought again of Agent Cole, and how he died so that her mom could live. She knew deep in her heart that her mom felt guilty about it, but she also knew that Agent Cole really respected her mother and believed that she was a person worth protecting.

"Mom?" Alison said softly, wanting nothing more than to reassure her.

"Yeah, baby?"

"I'm really, really grateful you came home." She swallowed hard. "I know you feel bad because people died - because Agent Cole died, but I'm so . . .none of it was your fault. None of it was _your_ doing and Dad is right, history is different because of what you did. I'm proud of you and we'll figure the rest out." She went to her and sat at the foot of her chair, her head resting in her lap. Her mother's soft fingers carded through her long dark hair.

"Ali's right." Stevie said and she looked up to see Stevie lean down and kiss her mother's cheek. "We will figure it out."

"We always do." Jason added.

Their Mom nodded her head silently but turned toward their father burying her face in his chest. The three of them left them alone- recognizing the constant truth; that the best cure for their mother was always their father.

***MS***

It was excruciatingly painful to watch Face the Nation. They devoted the entire hour to Iran and they watched it together - with the exception of her mother. For the first time in the history of the world, her mother had taken a sleeping pill and gone to bed. It aired the same day they'd filmed the interview so she was understandably exhausted. Her father had gone with her to the filming and they'd left the rest of her schedule clear - an absolute first since they'd moved to Washington. The episode had been filmed early in the morning, but they didn't come home until closer to lunch time. Alison had a strong suspicion that her mom was seeing a therapist or psychiatrist or something. She didn't ask.

Her mom came home picked at a late lunch and then had puttered around her home office until dinner. Blake had come by briefly to bring her some papers, and surprisingly, a carton of ice cream.

"I was going to bring you flowers." He said self-consciously. "But then I thought about it. What on earth would you want with flowers?" He grinned at her. "Ice cream is the thing for you."

"Blake," Her father had said, squeezing the young assistant's shoulder affectionately. "You have summed up all of Elizabeth McCord in just one sentence." He winked at her mother. "You must never let foreign dignitaries know this powerful weakness."

"I'll guard it with my life." He agreed with a nod. "If you need anything else, ma'am." He continued, reaching out, and squeezing her mother's hand. "Even if it is just a second round of ice cream, call me. I am at your service." He offered a neat little bow, and Alison had to catch her breath trying not to fall helplessly in love with Blake.

"Take it easy, Blake," Her mother said laughing. "You can over do the perfection, you know."

"Yes, ma'am." He nodded his head at her. "I'll see you tomorrow at the office."

"I'll be there." She agreed walking him to the door. She followed him out into the entry way, and when she thought no one was looking, she kissed his cheek. "Thank you for everything, Blake." She said softly.

He said nothing in return, just nodded his head and left. Alison wondered just exactly how old Blake was. Her mother caught her standing in the entryway.

"Alison Grace," She said with a laugh. "He is much too old for you, and I'm not certain you are his type." She reached out and rubbed her thumb along Alison's chin - such an ordinary and familiar action, that Ali found her eyes filling with sudden tears.

"A girl can dream." She said trying to hide her tears.

***MS***

They'd all sat down together for dinner. Alison and her father had worked together and made a roasted chicken with grilled vegetables and a salad. She tried not to stare at her mother too much but was pleased to see her eating.

"You are a good cook." Her father said to her.

"You are an excellent cook." Her mother agreed. "Thank, God!"

"Well, it's partly survival." She said with a laugh. "I don't understand it. Mom, you are good at everything."

"Except cooking." Jason said with a laugh.

"Everyone has a weakness." Her father said with a shrug of his shoulders.

"I guess. It just weird because cooking isn't that hard and you are crazy smart." Alison looked up to see a strange expression on her father's face - an uncomfortable silence in the room.

"My mom was just starting to teach me." Her mother said softly. "Your Dad is protecting me - like always. I gave up cooking after she died. A rather strong stance for a seven year old, but I've been stubborn since day one."

"Mom, I didn't . . ."

"I think we made a cake together, right before she died." She shrugged. "And I guess I've sort of always associated cooking with her. I don't know. Your Dad says it's my homage to her - to never really learn and let her be the ideal cook forever." She smiled at him.

"Well, babe, it does forever immortalize her while simultaneously putting the responsibility of cooking on our shoulders." He winked at her.

"But maybe you've filled in the gap." She turned to Alison. "Your grandmother would've loved cooking with you, Noodle."

"That would've been nice."

She was never sure what to say when her mother talked about her grandmother. It was so strange to think of her mother growing up without a mother herself. After her mother died, her father had sent her away to boarding school - something she couldn't possibly imagine. Her mother was occasionally sad, and always lit a candle in church for her mother, but other than that she never really talked about her parents much. She looked at her mother, who was talking with Stevie, the conversation having shifted and moved on - the light threw pretty shadows over her face. She looked up to see her father watching her, and he offered her a warm and loving smile, and for the first time in a really long time, she felt peace.

After dinner, she'd played chess with her Dad while Stevie and her Mom watched a cooking show. It was one of those shows where people competed to be the best cook. Stevie and her mom took bets on the contestants and their dishes. Throwing popcorn at the tv when they were wrong. Around 8:30, her mom started getting visibly nervous. Face the Nation would air at 9:00.

"Elizabeth," Her father said watching her fidget. "You want to go out for ice cream?"

"No, thanks." She smiled up at him. "Listen, I'm not going to . . . I can't watch it."

"That's fine." Her father's tone was even and calm.

"But I want you to watch it. I need for you to see it, Henry." Her voice was softer. "Everyone else will feed me crap. They won't tell me how it really went."

"Okay." He studied her thoughtfully. "What about one of those sleeping pills the doctor gave you?"

Alison had nearly fainted dead away when her mother said without the slightest hesitation, "That's what I was thinking."

She glanced over at Stevie who raised an eyebrow at her, equally stunned.

"I know, girls." Her mom said with self-deprecating laugh. "I guess it's time you learned I'm human after all."

"I had my suspicions, mom." Stevie said going to her mother and kissing her cheek. She wrapped her arms around her. "You are still Superman to us."

"Thanks, baby." Her mom said smiling up at Stevie.

Her father rose, holding a hand out to her mother. "C'mon. I'm supposed to change that bandage anyway. Then I'll tuck you in."

"Night Noodle." Her mom said pausing to kiss her forehead.

"Night, Mom." Alison watched them leave the room together hand in hand. Stevie came and sat beside her.

"I'm pretty sure that we should keep a bucket near by." Stevie said, punching her arm.

"Why?" Alison looked up at her sister.

"Oh, this is gonna make us puke." Stevie said. "I swear, I'm completely terrified to know everything, aren't you?"

"Yes." She admitted. She glanced over at Jason who was staring at his phone, playing a game. "What about you kid?"

"I'm sort of thinking I might just skip it." He said without looking up.

"That's fine, J." Stevie said. "You don't have to watch."

He sighed, and looked up at her. "No, I'm in. Besides, someone has to look out for you two."

"I'm pretty sure, Dad can manage." Alison said shaking her head at him.

"No." His voice was suddenly serious. "You two look out for him, and I'll look out for you."

Their father came back into the room, ten minutes before the start. He sat down on the couch between the two of them, wrapping his arms around them both. Jason came over and sat on the floor, leaning up against the couch.

"I should apologize to you, Noodle." He said softly, reaching for the tv clicker.

"Why?" She asked.

"Because I'm pretty sure that before this is over, I'm going to throw up that good dinner you cooked for us." He squeezed her shoulder offering her a wink.

"You already saw the interview." Jason pointed out.

"Just what he asked her and what she said. I didn't see the whole thing edited. I have a feeling this is going to be pretty tough to watch." He looked at each of them. "So, if you feel like bailing now - or later - you go ahead. There's no shame in it. You don't have to prove anything to me or your mother by watching it." He nodded at them. "And if you are too stressed out to be alone. I'll shut it off, okay? I can watch it later. No one." He cleared his throat, his voice suddenly husky. "No one in this house has to tough anything out alone, got that?"

"Yes, sir." Alison said with a grin, and he smiled back at her.

"Okay." He drew in a deep breath, and turned the tv on. It was stupid commercial about a new war movie coming out, and the sight of soldiers and guns made her stomach turn. She leaned into her father, comforted by the nearness of him. And then without any warning at all, she saw her mother's face on the tv screen.


	4. Chapter 4

ALISON MCCORD thought it was so strange to see her mother's face on tv. She had of course been on tv a lot since becoming Secretary of State, but it usually involved speeches or press conferences. This was her mother sitting in a chair facing a reporter. They gave a brief background - showing her parent's wedding picture. There was also a picture of all of them from their vacation two winters ago. A group shot of the whole family in Vale - getting ready to ski. Alison felt embarrassed because her hair looked weird and then she was hit with guilt - how could she be stressed out about something as stupid as hair.

In the first part of the story they laid the whole plot to set up the coup in Iran. It was dull but she sat through it with knots in her stomach so tense as she prepared herself for what was to come. Jason sat on the edge of his seat, completely enthralled. Right before every commercial break, they teased her interview - showing her sitting across from Bob Schieffer. She glanced at her father who rose and poured himself a glass of whiskey. He downed it in two big gulps, and then paced restlessly as the tv droned on about some stupid detergent that would make your whites so bright they would glow.

"Is she really asleep?" Alison asked him.

"What?" He answered distracted.

"Mom. Is she really asleep? She wouldn't try and watch it alone, would she?"

"No, she took two pills and I sat with her until she started to drift off." He said returning to the couch. "And I," Here he looked guilty. "I disconnected the cable."

Alison's eyes grew wide at this and Jason laughed out loud.

"You better hope she never finds out, Dad. She'd be ticked! She hates being handled!"

The show was back on before her father could respond. It was strange to hear her mother's voice so soft and sad coming from the tv when Alison knew she was upstairs - hopefully asleep. The interview itself was surreal. Her mother quietly told what happened - how she'd been standing talking to Minister Javani and his son one minute and the flat on the ground the next - with gunfire all around her. Alison felt sick. It was too vivid and Bob Schieffer asked far too many personal questions.

"Was your husband aware that you were in Iran with such a small security detail?" Her mother"s face softened at this but her voice remained strong.

"My husband and I discussed the trip, including the dangers and I had just spoken with him on the phone, just minutes before the attack." She told him.

"It must have been difficult for him to allow you to go. . ."

It was possible that's there was more to his sentence but Alison nearly laughed at the expression on her mother's face as he said the word allow.

"It was difficult for us to say good-bye," She interrupted. "But it generally is. We actually enjoy each other's company." She smiled at this. "But my husband would be quick to tell you that we both decided long ago that we had certain responsibilities to the world around us. We have obligations to the next generation and the world we leave them."

"Still, you both were aware that there was a coup in the works and that dozen of factions would have you killed without hesitation if they knew you were in Iran."

"Yes." Her voice was tightly controlled. "It was our daughter's sixteenth birthday, too and I was torn. I hated being gone for her birthday. I think the struggle for all of us who work in public service is trying to maintain the balance of the needs of your own children and the needs of all children everywhere. But I am mindful of the world that I will leave them. I want her, and her brother and sister to know that I did everything in my power to make sure that she never faces a nuclear war."

"Including knowingly traveling into a dangerous situation."

"It was a unique situation. Minister Javani and I had met before and I knew that the only way to separate the official position of the United States government from the coup leaders would be to travel to Iran. It was not a decision that President Dalton or I took lightly. I understood that it was dangerous, and my husband and I discussed it at length."

"And what kind of conversation was that?"

"A very intense one." She smiled at the camera. "Suffice it to say that by the time it ended, he knew where I stored all my computer passwords." She paused here, and then continued softly. "I think that it is easy to forget that all the people who serve in leadership in any country are just people - they are someone's husband or wife. They have children and mothers and fathers. Both minister Javani and I agreed that we needed to create a world where our children wouldn't have to fear nuclear destruction. He leaves behind a wife and two sons who will miss him every day, and it is only the bravery of my security detail and their willingness to sacrifice that kept my family from experiencing the same horrible grief that the Javani family faces. If we could only step back from the overriding arc of politics and remember that we are all beloved husbands and wives - that we are all mothers and fathers, and sons and daughters - then we can begin to make decisions that will lead to peace and security for all of us."

Alison blinked back tears so unbelievably proud of her mother. She squeezed her father's arm. He glanced down at her, a proud smile on his face. They went to another commercial break and she exhaled slowly. The room was completely silent for a long time until Stevie finally spoke.

"Dad? They are going to push her to be president, aren't they?" The question stunned Alison.

"No." She said. "Mom's done enough."

"Like they give a shit about her." Jason said bitterly. She looked at her father expecting him to correct Jason's language. But he didn't. His face was tight with stress and anger.

"They don't give a shit." He agreed, shocking her. "But I do. And whatever comes her way, _we_ will determine it. This was different - becoming Secretary of State. She felt an obligation to President Dalton because of the past and because of what happened to Secretary Marsh, but if they do try and tap her to run - we'll do what's best for her and for us. I am not confused about the line that separates service from sacrifice - you are right - saving the world from nuclear war tips the scale her way. She's done more than her share."

When the show came back on, they went into more detail than she was comfortable with - showing the house where she'd been attacked. Even including a computer re-enactment . She felt sick and wanted to run from the room but couldn't look away. And then it felt like all air was sucked out of the room when the screen switched to an image of her mother. Her face was dirty and bruised - she stood between two agents who were walking her to a waiting black SUV. One of the agents was Frank. His arm was in a sling and marked with dirt like hers. He stood closer than agents usually did, his hand on her arm. The other agent, she'd never seen before. He was standing where Fred usually stood. Her mother's face was tight with fear and shock, and as the camera pulled in closer, you could see the tracks that tears had made on her bruised and dirty face.

"Oh,God, Lizzie, no." Her father said softly and she wanted to say something but knew if she opened her mouth only screams would come out. She turned back to the TV, just in time to see them push her mother inside the SUV and as they did, you could see the back of her shirt, red with blood.

"Daddy!" She stood so quickly that she slammed her shin into the coffee table, knocking over a candle. "That's . . . Blood." She pointed at the screen. "She's . . ."

"Sit, down Alison." His voice was flat; angry.

The story continued but all she heard was a dull roar. They repeated the same image three more times. At the end of the hour, they showed her mother at her desk talking to Blake. It looked ordinary and she was sure they were saying something about things being back to normal. But Alison knew nothing would ever go back to normal and that for as long as she lived, the image of her mother dirty, bleeding and hurt would stay with her.

The screen went blank and they all stayed where they were - silent. She glanced over at her father who was gripping the side of the couch so tight, his knuckles were white.

Jason was the first to move. He rose suddenly, an empty glass in his hand.

"Don't." Her father said as Jason lifted the glass to throw it in anger. "The sound of breaking glass is a trigger for her. You want to send her into flashbacks and a panic attack?"

Jason hesitated, clearly furious. Alison felt a wave of compassion for her brother who was frustrated with his own sense of helpless fury. He held the glass tight in his hand, and all of the sudden she felt the mood in the room shift. She understood that they were all filled with the same pain; the same rage. The anger that passed between her brother and her father was like an electric current - an uncontrolled bolt of lightening searching for a place to strike. She could see her father's face change, and recognize that his rage, had nowhere else to go. She moved to step in front of Jason, even as her father rose, furious.

"You gonna throw it anyway?" His voice was ice cold and nearly unrecognizable. "Jesus, Jason! You don't care if it sends her spiraling into a panic attack!"

"Dad!" Stevie said, moving to stand beside Alison, who stood shaking in front of Jason.

"He would never hurt her. Dad, calm down. You are just angry. Stop." She raised a hand to his chest. She knew he wasn't coming at Jason to hurt him with anything more than words, but it was frightening all the same. She could hear Jason whimpering behind her, his cries sounding like a wounded animal. Stevie turned toward him, pulling their little brother into her arms.

"Jas, he's not mad at you. He's just angry. Just like you. It's okay, buddy." She said hugging him tightly.

"Dad!" She said, her hand still on his chest. "Stop. You aren't angry at Jason."

He staggered back, his face white and his eyes grew wide with recognition and shame. "God, I'm sorry. Jason, I'm so sorry." He said. "Buddy, I know you wouldn't hurt her. I'm so sorry."

Alison stepped aside, allowing her father to move past her, and wrap his arms around her brother. The two of them were both weeping and talking at the same time. She looked over at Stevie who had also stepped back. Neither of them said anything, and Alison was surprised to discover that she had no tears left. She only felt a rage that something so terrible had come to their house, shattering all of them.

"Go make sure, Mom's asleep." Stevie said to her, and she nodded her head. She climbed the stairs terrified that she would find her mother awake and traumatized by the stupid interview, and by the scene downstairs, but her mother was asleep. Her face so peaceful, that Alison, climbed into bed beside her, fully clothed. She moved as close to her mother as she dared, afraid to startle her awake. Resting a hand on her mother's arm, she was comforted by the steady pulse of her heart.


	5. Chapter 5

BLAKE MORAN watched Nadine's face as the doors to the conference room flew open. He was terrified that her next words were going to be, "She's dead." The relief, he felt as she instead said, "She's alive!", that flooded his system was shocking even to him.

He'd only gone to the interview to humor his friend Allen. He was sure there was no way on earth he would be chosen to be the personal assistant to the new Secretary of State. He didn't have nearly enough experience, and a bad habit of saying the wrong thing.

He felt that he'd bombed the first interview. He'd been distracted by how incredibly beautiful she was. He wasn't expecting that at all. For some reason, he hadn't focused on her picture in all his prep work - instead her achievements and accomplishments. He did an actual double-take when he walked into the room. He had expected someone who looked a lot more like Madeleine Albright. Leaving the interview, he figured he'd screwed the whole thing up, and was shocked when he was called back for the second interview.

"So, you survived the first round, Mr. Moran." She said as he stepped into the office for the second interview.

"I can't tell you how surprised I was to discover this." He immediately regretted saying it, but she laughed.

"An honest man - a D.C. rarity." She said indicating the chair across from her desk.

He sat in the chair, as she studied a sheaf of papers in front of her - he assumed his resume. There was a glass of water on her desk, and she accidently bumped it with her elbow - he moved quickly - ignoring the glass but rescuing all the papers on her desk. The glass tumbled over spilling water over the surface of her desk, and pouring into her lap.

"Well, now I'm soaking wet." She remarked raising an eyebrow at him. "I guess I should be more careful."

She reached into a drawer, and pulled out a towel. "Thank you for saving my paper work."

"You are welcome." He said handing her the papers. "I'm sorry, I figured you'd survive the mess better than any important documents."

"Yes." She agreed with a nod. "An interesting choice." There was something in her look that clicked with him, and he tilted his head, studying her with a slight grin.

"Why do I get the distinct impression that you were testing me, ma'am?" He wrinkled his brows, surprised, but she just smiled mischievously.

"You'll have to survive the second round to find out."

"Well, with your CIA background," He said without thinking. "I doubt I'd ever know for sure."

This clearly surprised her, and she laughed out loud. He'd relaxed after that. He found her instantly intriguing and he wanted to be chosen to work with her. It was clear she wasn't a D.C. stiff. He wondered how she would fair surrounded by all the career politicians.

He was greatly overjoyed when he was offered the job. His mother of course, was thrilled beyond speech - the State Department! And it came at just the right time - he'd been ready to leave Washington and give up - so tired of meaningless jobs that required so little of him.

He was an outsider, of course. For whatever reason, she had kept Secretary Marsh's staff. A move that was either brilliant or ridiculously foolish. At first, he couldn't tell which. But over time, she won the staff to her - even Nadine, had to be impressed after the first formal dinner. She had singlehandedly brought substance to an otherwise meaningless dinner. Daisy was overjoyed with all the fabulous press. He had already come to expect nothing less from her. She was amazingly intelligent.

Of course, there was the New York Trip Fiasco - he always thought of it that way - in all caps. He couldn't believe he was responsible for Jason's hurt ankle and was ready for her wrath. She was, above anything, a mother. He'd seen her chew out huge agents when they overstepped their bounds with her children, and he expected nothing less for allowing Jason to be injured.

He'd apologized profusely, expecting to be chastised, but she'd been fairly even about the whole thing. She hadn't spent hours reassuring him or hours upbraiding him. He appreciated that about her. She was honest. She held Jason responsible for his part, but didn't let him off the hook either. It was an even and reasonable reaction and one he deserved. He was content to put it behind him and return to his work.

The longer he worked for her, the more impressed he was. She was like that about everything - thoughtful, fair, and calm. He felt strangely protective of her - as though she were his younger sister - even though she was more than capable of managing things for herself. The fact that she didn't really need his protection, almost seemed to make him want to provide it even more.

Her family was impressive. Every single member looked like they'd been selected from a modeling agency. The first time he'd met her husband, he'd stepped back surprised. He'd read that he was a religion professor - so he expected someone who looked like a middle-aged religion professor. Her husband looked more like an active duty marine or someone who belonged on the cover of GQ. He heard Daisy give an approving gasp of surprise, after Dr. McCord stepped into his wife's office.

"If any of my professor's looked like that, I'd sign up for every single course." Daisy said.

"Amen." Nadine had said with a raised eyebrow.

Together, they looked liked they belonged on top of a wedding cake and it clearly wasn't just a marriage for appearances. He'd stepped into her office and caught them kissing too many times to count. He barely reacted to it any more. He would be having a serious discussion with her regarding her schedule, but she'd be only half listening, studying her phone instead, and smiling at whatever it was that her husband was texting her. They texted constantly. He was initially surprised by it - she was clearly a capable and independent woman so it was hard to see her as someone's wife - at least in the traditional sense. Just a few weeks into the job, he had to shift his view of what marriage was actually like. He began to realize that his own views on the issue might, in fact be skewed due to his own history. His own parent's marriage had dissolved before he was six, and his father had disappeared. Most of his friends were in the same boat and a life working in D.C. didn't exactly leave him with a hopeful positive expectation for any relationships. People in this town used each other - not just other politicians but their husbands, wives, even their children. The McCords, however, were not from D.C.

He found her husband particularly intriguing and not just because he was ridiculously attractive. He watched Dr. McCord with curiosity. He seemed completely comfortable with his wife's role, and was constantly supportive. Even when things were insanely busy, and she was gone for days at time - holed up in her office, he gave no indication of frustration or complaint. Blake had gone to the house many times to retrieve a change of clothes or pick up left behind paperwork. Dr. McCord was generally cheerful and would welcome Blake into their home. "How is everything at the office?" He would ask with a grin, but he never tried to ply Blake for information regarding his wife. He didn't need to. The most he would say was the same sentence over and over. "Make sure she eats something, for me Blake. She always forgets." Which was completely true. She would get so bogged down that even her cup of coffee would grow cold. She had singular focus when solving a problem.

"Ma'am," He would say, a plate in his hand. "How about some salad?"

"What? Oh, maybe later, Blake." Was her general response. He would stand, plate in hand with raised eyebrow, and irritated she would sigh and take the plate from him.

"Fine." And he would nod and leave the room satisfied that she would take at least one bite.

If he was honest, he was completely fascinated by her husband. His own father had disappeared from his life without a backwards glance. He was intrigued by a family with an intact father, and it wasn't just the Dr. McCord was present - he was clearly involved in his children's lives. His observations left him with a renewed anger toward his long-lost father. In his limited exposure to the family, he saw they way his children looked at him - their eyes holding nothing but admiration and confidence that their father's love for them was as solid as the ground they walked on. He wondered how different his life would have been, if he had been raised by two such devoted and loving people.

Of course, her devotion to her husband and children, complicated his life from time to time. She was stubborn on this issue and he'd had to rearrange her schedule for school meetings and soccer games more than once. It made the people who worked with her irritated but he was happy to face their wrath. It wasn't as if he was rearranging her schedule so she could meet up with a clandestine lover.

She was impressive in the office, too. Everyone around her would hit an impasse - no possible solution, and she would pause, disappearing into her office to think. He would find her standing at the window lost in thought, or sprawled out on the couch - which he'd mistaken for a power nap at first. Then she would spring up, making a list of demands.

"Blake, get me the office of protocol, please." or "See if the President can squeeze in a quick meeting." And then the results of her actions would be plastered wall to wall in the news cycle. Reporters would use words like "surprising" and "unprecedented". He would turn to her and say, "Nice work, ma'am." but she would just offer a shy grin, and respond, "I don't know what you mean, Blake."

He had never once met a true public servant. Everyone in Washington had an agenda - generally angled toward one direction - the White House. She had no such ambitions. Some of his colleagues pointed out that working for her was a waste of his time. "She's never gonna move up, Blake. The State's Office is as far as she'll ever go."

"So?" He would say. He was too embarrassed to tell them the truth - that he admired her more than anyone he'd ever known in his life, and that he hoped to work for her from now until they were both old and grey. He hadn't started the job with undying loyalty to her, but that is how he felt now. He had seen the same look on the faces of her security detail, and knew that like him, close observation of Secretary of State Elizabeth McCord had one result - loyalty.

Sometimes his emotions got in the way. When her friend Joseph was killed, he didn't care about politics or optics. He was angry that the rest of her staff couldn't see that she was clearly upset - hurt and sad. She had sat alone in the conference room, silent and unmoving until they'd all descended upon her at the same time. There was so much talking and arguing and he'd wanted to push them all out of the room, closing the doors so that she could have some space to breathe - space to grieve.

And yet, she had managed, even then to give the problem careful and intelligent thought. She considered carefully how her choice would look to the world at large, and came up with a totally unique solution - one that allowed her to pay respect to her friend without devaluing the United States of America. Of course, she'd gone home in between, and he was completely confident that her decision was influenced or at least encouraged by her husband, and he felt better knowing that at least with him, she would allow herself to mourn the loss of her childhood friend.

He'd researched her life before taking the job, of course, and knew that she'd lost her mother when she was young, and had spent the rest of her school days away at boarding schools. He thought it interesting that her own children did not attend boarding schools. She kept them close to her, and it caused her stress when her work prevented her from going home. When she was in the middle of the mess with Japan and China, she'd spent all week holed up in the office trying desperately to find an acceptable solution.

"Blake, maybe you could snap a picture of my kids when you go home for clothes." She had said to him. She was joking, a smile on her face, but he could hear the sadness underneath, too.

"A formal portrait or candids?" He'd asked with a grin, and she'd actually laughed.

"Of, candids always causes my daughters to squeal." She said, reaching out and squeezing his forearm.

"You've got that meeting in ten." He told her, and she nodded her head at him.

"Thank you, Blake." He'd smiled at her, and he had, in fact, snapped several pictures of her children - as a joke, but not really. By the time she'd returned from her meeting, he'd printed them out and spread them over her desk. Her younger daughter had made her cookies and sent a note - "Love you Mom!" It declared in typically large teenage lettering. He hadn't been in the room when she'd stepped back into her office, but later, when he'd stepped into the room, she was smiling at him, hugging the note to her chest.

"I'm going to have to see about a raise for you, Blake." Was the only thing she said about it - there hadn't been time for more anyway as they moved through one crisis to the next.

They seemed to be always working their way through one crisis or another, and while he had tremendous confidence in her ability to solve difficult problems, he sometimes wondered if she would one day reach her limit. She was, after all, human and effectively serving the people of the United States of America came at a cost.

Iran was her defining moment, and it grieved him deeply to see the cost, and for the first time, he wasn't sure that she would be able to find her way through the wreckage.


	6. Chapter 6

BLAKE MORAN was used to both late night and early morning calls. He always had a suit pressed and ready. He could be dressed and out the door at a moment's notice. They teased him about it. They had been called in at two in the morning and everyone else had thrown on whatever was nearby and he'd arrived in a suit, complete with matching tie and handkerchief.

"Let me ask you something, Blake," Matt had said to him.

"Sure."

"Are you some sort of strange genetic mutation -like has your skin has evolved to actually resemble a suit?"

"I don't know how to respond to that." Which was a sentence he used frequently with Matt.

"I'm just saying, I've never seen you wear anything other than a suit."

"We're you hoping for something else?" He raised an eyebrow at him. "Because given your track record, I don't think another office romance is the way to go." Matt hadn't found the statement nearly as funny as he had.

Of course, part of it was they had been up all night and working nonstop. He was hopped up on coffee and lack of sleep. They were all reeling from the shock not only of learning that Vincent Marsh had been murdered, and of a coup in Iran but also of Marsh and Nadine.

He blamed his slow realization of what would come next on these shocks. It was nearly midnight when Madam Secretary came back to her office, her face serious. She'd been at the White House for hours.

"Blake." She said tersely. "Can I borrow you a moment?"

It was as he was following her into the office that it hit him. _She planned to go there! She was going to try and solve this problem herself by actually going to Iran. _He fought a strong urge to curse. She had paused, standing behind her desk, silent. He froze in his tracks, one hand on the back of the chair, but not sitting down.

"Ma'am." He said, suddenly icy cold. "You cannot go there." He was surprised at the harshness of his tone.

"Blake, I just want to cover a few things." She crossed the office, closing the door to the outer office before pausing at her closet. Standing on tiptoe, she reached up high, and pulled down an envelope. She poured the contents into her hand - a small silver key. She crossed back to where he stood and held it out to him.

"I've got a safety deposit box at First National. Henry doesn't know about it. 2714."

"No." He pulled his hand back, refusing the key. He couldn't believe she was actually planning this. She had to understand how completely and ridiculously dangerous it was. "Madam Secretary, they are planning a coup! You know what that means. They would kill you the second you set foot on Iranian soil!"

"I'll leave it in my top drawer." She said ignoring him and moving to stand behind her desk. "Also, there is a file on my computer. It's labeled Thomas Aquinas. It has all my passwords and," Here she paused, clearing her throat. "It has everything Henry will need. He knows about it but he might not remember if . . .so I'm telling you, too."

He sank into the chair, his eyes wide. "You . . . This is crazy, ma'am. You can't stop a war all by yourself."

"There's also a file with your name on it. There is a letter of recommendation and your work reviews. You should contact Russell Jackson's office, though. I made him promise to make sure you are taken care of."

"What about your family? Ma'am you can't do this!"

"My family needs to be safe from nuclear destruction, as does the rest of the world. Minister Javani and I have an understanding of sorts. He will listen to me - especially if I go there." She leaned against her desk, and lifted a hand to rub her forehead. "Blake, please. I've got to go home and fight with my husband about this - I appreciate your concern. I do. I really do. But I can only manage so much just now."

"Let me go with you, then" He was utterly serious.

"To talk to my husband?" She tried to distract him by pretending to misunderstand. "That would be awkward, don't you think?"

"To Iran." He said angrily. "Let me go with you."

"Because of your military and espionage training?"

"Elizabeth, you can't do this." He'd never once said her name. Never, and her eyes grew wide when he did.

"I appreciate the offer, Mr. Moran." She emphasized his name heavily. "But I travel with enough security already. Your skills are needed here."

"Ma'am, I could be surprisingly useful. I've been described as scrappy from time to time."

"Well, I should have added that to your letter of recommendation." She smiled at him and he understood that there would be no reasoning with her. She was going. He sighed heavily.

"You can update it when you get back." He said, his eyes locked on hers.

"Yes." She agreed, understanding that he was really telling her that he accepted her decision - however crazy it seemed. She immediately rose and began gathering her things. "So, the key is in the top drawer, those files on the computer, and I," She paused, here. Her face was down but he saw the shine of a tear in her eye. "I left a letter for Henry, if um . . . if you need it. But don't uh, give it to him unless . . ."

"Yes ma'am."

He handed her, her coat and she slid into it, reaching for her purse and briefcase.

"Alright, now I'm going to go and you've got to go out there and tell them we were setting up the schedule for a series of press conferences dealing with the conspiracy. We've got to keep this locked up tight."

She stood in front of him and he was taken aback at how small she seemed. He felt a fluttering of panic and had to actually fight the urge to run and lock the door trapping her inside where she would be forever safe.

"Blake," She continued. "I'm counting on you to keep this quiet. I'm counting on you to manage things if . . . Henry will have enough to deal with the kids and . . ."

"You can count on me." He said feeling the weight of her trust. "I won't let you down."

"I know you won't." She smiled up at him. They stood facing each other for a long silent moment.

"Ok." She said at last. "I'll see you when I get back."

"Yes." He agreed and she walked to the door. "Ma'am?" He said just as she reached out her hand to open the door.

"Blake, I can't . . ."

"The thing with the water glass, it was a test, right? At my second interview? You wanted to see what I would do? Did I pass it? I mean what were you trying to see?"

Her smile grew huge at this but her eyes glittered with tears. "That's pure tradecraft, Blake. And you haven't got the clearance."

"No, ma'am. I don't."

She was about to leave and he couldn't manage the emotions that seemed to overwhelm him. Impulsively, he reached out putting a hand on her arm.

"Be careful, please." His voice caught on the words.

"I will." She put her hand on top of his. "I'll see you when I get back. Thank you, Blake. You are a very good assistant. Anyone would be fortunate to have you on their team."

It felt too much like good-bye and he felt uncomfortable. The thought of her in Iran - surrounded by too many forces that hated Americans, and despised all she stood for was too much.

"I don't know why you've told me all this." He said attempting to lighten the mood. "Dr. McCord is _never_ going to agree to this, and what about Fred? He'd never sign off on this!"

"Fred doesn't get to determine what I do." And then she surprised him completely by standing on tiptoe and kissing his cheek. "You have permission to marry either one of my daughters. And it's not that I'm opposed to you marrying my son but he doesn't appear to be inclined in that direction. You should go home and get some sleep."

And without another word she was gone.

He couldn't go out in the outer office right away. Instead he turned back and stepped behind her desk collapsing in her chair. He felt utterly wrecked and couldn't imagine what her husband would say or do. His eyes fell on the picture closest to him - it was one of her and her husband - their faces both lit up with bright smiles - their arms locked around each other. They weren't facing the camera, however but we're facing each other. It pained him to think of her doing something so dangerous - something that would sever the ties between her and her family; something that forever cut her off from his own life.

Blake was not a religious man, but for the first time since he was a small child, he lifted fervent prayers toward the heavens hoping that God, Himself would keep a protective hand on the stubborn and foolishly pure-in-heart woman whose inner strength and moral goodness were about to be tested.


	7. Chapter 7

At one point, BLAKE MORAN completely blacked out. One second he was watching as Nadine's dark eyes filled with tears and the next he was staring at the brown surface of the conference table.

"Blake?" Nadine was saying his name gently. "Blake?"

"Yes." He answered warily. "I'm fine. We should see if we can get some information through back channels. Matt start with the embassies. Perhaps one of our allies can get information that we can't."

It was easier to direct his mind toward solving the problem than to really look closely at it. He tried to keep his entire focus on the problem at hand - get information and get her back home.

_Her security force was over run. Minister Javani is dead. There was a massive attack. _

They all worked the phones and email - none of them leaving the conference room with the exception of Nadine who stepped out to call Dr. McCord. He was grateful that she offered to do it - there was no way he could tell Henry McCord that his wife was most likely dead. The very thought of the Professor McCord made him dizzy with grief. How could he possible recover such a catastrophic loss? How could any of them?

His mind would drift from time to time, and he would find himself thinking of her bright blue eyes or the way she would wink at him whenever Daisy would launch into an excited rant about poll numbers. It was excruciatingly painful to dwell on any thoughts of her.

"What about those numbers for the delegation that came to New York? Maybe one of them would be willing to contact someone in Iran. Where is that list?" Jay asked.

"I'll get it."

And he rushed into her office, going straight to her desk. He pulled open the top drawer and froze at the sight of a silver key. It was suddenly difficult to breathe. He slammed the drawer shut and turned his attention to the second drawer, pulling out the needed file. He had slammed the top drawer so hard that it bounced back open. A single envelope fluttered to the ground, and cursing he picked it up, laying it on the surface of her desk. He was avoiding looking at the series of pictures on her desk. He couldn't bear seeing the bright faces of her children. He glanced instead at the envelope and felt as though he'd been kicked in the gut. A single word was loving engraved across the front: Henry.

***MS***

"Everything is chaos. Even if I could reach any of my contacts, they wouldn't have any information. Nothing is coming out of there. It's gone dark."

"Listen, I understand but we just want to get our people home. We have lost all contact." Blake tried to keep the desperate edge out of his voice, but as time wore on it was becoming more and more difficult.

"I understand that. We've lost all contact too. It is chaos. We have concerns for our _own_ people."

"She's a mother. She has three children and a husband. We just want to know if she's okay."

Every single conversation went the same way. It was horrifically bleak. No one could help. They knew it too but they kept dialing over and over and over.

And then Nadine staggered in, pale and visibly shaking. "Fred Cole is dead." She said and she stumbled forward. Jay caught her, and that's when Blake passed out.

***MS***

"He stormed the Oval Office." Daisy said.

"No," Matt's reply was even. "That's an exaggeration. It was Jackson's office. Isabella's cousin is a receptionist there. She said he blew right past the security guys."

"They probably didn't have the heart to stop him."

"Yeah. The rumor is that he chewed Jackson out and the President himself had to pull him off."

"That can't be true!" Daisy said.

"Why not? She worked for him before he was President. They've known each other for years. He could step in."

"No. I just mean he was a Marine! There's no way Dalton could take him down. I heard he just stormed in demanding information and then left."

"The version I heard was a lot more drammatic." Matt said.

"They said he was sobbing when he left." Her voice grew softer. "I can't imagine. They seemed really together, didn't they? I mean every time he came around she lit up. Have you ever known two people so happy together?"

"I walked in on them making out one time." Matt confessed. "She was supposed to be in a meeting and I left my notes in her office. When I went back to get them, they were standing in the middle of her office like a couple of junior high kids at their first party." He sighed. "God! This cannot be happening. He will never survive it!"

"Are you two gonna sit around gossiping all day or do something?" Blake was absolutely furious. "Stop talking like . . . We don't know what happened, all right? "

"We were just . . ." Matt began but Daisy cut him off.

"You are right, Blake. I'm sorry." She immediately headed back into the conference room.

Matt stood where he was and Blake stared him down, anger radiating off him like waves.

"Look Blake," Matt began gently. "I know how you feel about her - how we all feel but the odds of her making it out alive - Fred was her body man."

"Well, thanks for the pep talk." Blake fought the urge to punch Matt in his squishy face.

"Listen, I'm not trying to . . . Dude, this would be our second loss and I don't know how Daisy and Nadine would manage it. I'm just asking you to try and prepare yourself."

Blake sighed. "Yeah, okay." Matt nodded at him and then turned to go back in the conference room.

"Did he. . ." Blake hesitated.

"What?"

"He really stormed Jackson's office?"

"Yeah." Matt sighed. "I'm glad weren't the ones responsible for her going there! I couldn't possibly face him. Look, why don't you splash some water on your face before you go back in - you look terrible man."

Standing at the bathroom mirror, he struggled. Matt's words seemed to echo over and over. _The odds of her making it out alive . . ._ He understood Matt's perspective, but he wished he'd never said anything. He was finding it impossible to focus on anything else. He pulled his phone out of his pocket.

I just want you to know, we are working as hard as we can to get information.

I will do everything in my power to find her, and get her home. If you need

anything at all - please let me help.

He sent the text. He'd been debating sending one for hours. He wanted to do something to let the McCords know that they were trying hard to bring her home - that he understood how much she mattered.

Thank you, Blake. We are holding on to hope.

He leaned against the sink, filled with an inexpressible anguish. Why on earth did she go to Iran? Why did he let her? It was the stupidest thing anyone had ever done! All her hope and optimism was going to result in her death - and all anyone would ever say was that she was a fool to think that one person could stop a war. He splashed water on his face, and then returned to the phones.

***MS***

And then when he was completely exhausted and past any hope, Nadine flew in to the conference room with the two most beautiful words he'd ever heard. _She's alive_! He could hardly breathe. His head was spinning and it was all he could do to keep himself upright. He leaned forward, all of his weight resting on the table top. Jay put a hand on his back, and the whole room was filled with cheers and shouts of joy. But he collapsed in his seat, his head in hands. He had to lean forward to catch his breath as his heart hammered in his chest.

"Blake?" Nadine asked.

He looked up to discover that they had all left the room. He had no idea how long he'd been sitting there.

"Where is she now? Was she hurt?" He asked.

"They are taking her to Germany - Landstuhl. She has some minor injuries." Nadine sat in the chair across from him. "She has about twenty stitches on her back. She was in Javani's house and there was some kind of blast, I guess. They were thrown to the ground, and then Javani was shot."

"And Fred." He added with a heavy sigh thinking of Fred's cheerful face, always just beside her. "Just stitches?"

"Bruises, and temporary hearing loss, which is usual after a firefight."

"They called her husband?" He asked.

"Russell Jackson did." Nadine, reached out putting a hand on Blake's arm. "You should go home, and get some sleep. You are completely exhausted."

"So are you." He said with a grin. "Is Dr. McCord meeting her at the airport?"

"I don't know." Nadine said. "I would assume so."

"Can you check? She's really private and always has her game face on in public. I bet she won't let him meet her there. I hate to think of her coming home to no one."

"I'll get back to you." She rose and squeezed his shoulder, tears in her dark eyes. "She's okay, Blake."

"She was in a house where Ambassador Javani was killed. You really think she's okay, Nadine?" He looked up at her with wide eyes. "She feels guilty when she asks us to stay late. How is she going to recover from this?"

***MS***

He stood in the giant hanger, surrounded by military personnel. He had her long wool coat over his arm. He glanced at his watch for the seven thousandth time since he'd arrived at the airbase. He had heard that the President himself wanted to meet her, but his detail and press secretary thought it was a terrible idea, so Blake stood alone. He found himself filled with anxiety - she might be angry with him - after all, the only person she would want to greet her would be Henry McCord.

They taxied the plane straight into the hanger, no doubt avoiding press. He expected the doors to open quickly and her to immediately disembark. He had forgotten that they were also bringing home the bodies of those who had died protecting her. He swallowed hard at the sight of the coffins. She emerged not long after that - flanked by Frank and two other agents. She looked very small. Her face was a portrait of sorrow and her shirt bloodied. He was surprised that they hadn't given her something else to wear. Frank walked her straight to Blake, a hand on her arm.

"Madam Secretary." He somehow managed. "I can't tell you how glad I am to see you, ma'am."

"Blake Moran." She said warily. "I told them I didn't want anyone to . . ."

"You know, I've never been good at following directions." He said with a shrug. "And I knew you wouldn't let Dr. McCord meet you here. I'll just see you home, ma'am."

"Thank you, Blake." She said softly, a sad smile passed over her features.

"She's exhausted." Frank said. "They gave her some pain meds, but she wasn't a very cooperative patient."

"Stop talking about me like I'm not here." She said sharply. "I'd like to go home now." Her voice caught on the word home, and Blake had to swallow down tears.

"I have some clothes for you, ma'am." It was clear that she was fighting to keep it together. He tried to keep his voice cool and professional knowing that was what she needed.

"I don't need . . ."

"Your shirt is covered in . . ." He reached out and put a hand on her arm. "You cannot go home like this. He couldn't bear to see you so . . ." He glanced around the hangar. "This way, ma'am. Can you walk?"

"Yes." She sighed. "I'm not hurt."

He led her across the hangar where the cars were waiting. He handed her the coat and a fresh shirt. "You can change in the car, ma'am. Just open the door when you are ready for us."

She nodded at him, and walked slowly to the vehicle. She paused with her hand on the door, and turned back to face him. Tears shimmered in her bright blue eyes. "Blake, I can't . . .I'm sorry." She apologized. "I can lift my arm to . . .I need help."

"Yes ma'am." He cleared his throat. "Do you want me to get one of the female agents to . . ."

"No, I don't need any more strangers." She sighed. "Listen, I know it is a lot to ask, but could you . . ."

"Yes, ma'am." He opened the door to the SUV, and gently helped her up and inside. Her movements were slow, and as she climbed up in he could see the dark stain of blood on the back of her shirt. He felt suddenly sick and dizzy. _She was hurt! The bastards had hurt her! _ He felt a deep and passionate rage.

"Why didn't they give you a change of clothes?" He asked trying to keep his voice calm, as they sat across from one another in the car.

"I wouldn't . . ." She closed her eyes briefly, clearly exhausted. "I wouldn't let them. I don't know. I wasn't thinking very clearly."

He reached out awkwardly in an attempt to help her with her blouse, but immediately dropped his hand. "Can you unbutton it, ma'am?" He asked.

"It hurts to lift my arm." She whispered softly. "Can they take me home now? I just want to go home."

He blinked back tears, and reached forward unbuttoning her blouse. "This will just take a second and then we will get going, ma'am." He moved quickly, removing the bloody shirt, and then helping her into the blue sweater he'd brought. In hindsight, it would've been much easier if he'd brought another button down shirt, but when he'd grabbed the clothes all he could think about was how often she complained of being cold. He helped her into the coat, and then nodded his head at the agents who were waiting. He took her old shirt and balled it up, stuffing it in his jacket pocket.

She leaned back in her seat closing her eyes, and Blake exhaled slowly realizing that he'd actually been holding his breath; that he had in fact been holding it a long time.

"Have you spoken with him?" She asked her eyes still closed.

"Just text." Blake said softly. "He stayed home with the children and we never left the office. Were you able to call him, ma'am?" He reached into his pocket to grab his phone.

"In Germany. We talked."

He held the phone out to her, but she shook her head.

"I need to . . ." But she was unable to finish the sentence. "Is there any water?"

He dug around in the car, and handed her a water bottle. She took it from him and struggled with the cap. Realizing that her hands were shaking, he moved to sit beside her, reaching for the bottle. He untwisted the cap and handed to her.

"I do know this." He said, trying to fill the car with talk. "He stormed Russell Jackson's office and threatened to kick President Dalton's ass if they didn't bring you home." She turned to face him, her eyebrows raised in doubt.

"Well, he did show up at Jackson's office - what he said is up to debate."

The car wound its way through the city. She kept her head down not looking out the windows. He wondered at it.

"How do I look?" She asked smoothing her hair with her right hand.

She kept her left arm close to her body. This was an ordinary question that she asked him frequently. She would be dashing from meeting to meeting, and she would pause, tuck in her blouse and say, "Presentable?" He would never offer much in the way of encouragement and generally responded with a polite shrug and a "You look alright."

They had a strangely intimate/non intimate relationship. He knew so much about her - from her shoe size to even her bra size. He had been in her bedroom more times than he could count - never when she was actually there of course, rummaging through her drawers looking for clothes. He'd been in the room as she finished changing - tucking her blouse into her skirt or pants. Once when they'd had day after day of meetings, she'd had one delegation waiting in her inner office, and another waiting in her outer office. He had brought a change of clothes to her in her closet, and then had stood smashed against the back wall as she'd changed.

"I'm not sure what the kids know and I don't want to look too . . ." She continued.

"You look beautiful, ma'am." He said, tossing aside tradition and telling her the absolute truth.

"You've lost your edge." She said, sounding more like herself.

"Well, I was worried I'd have to find a new job, and honestly ma'am, Russell Jackson terrifies me."

She smiled at this and lifted her head, but just as she was about to glance out the window, she ducked down again. "Are we almost there?"

"Two more streets." He told her.

"Thank you for riding with me." She said.

"I apologize for disobeying your wishes." He said.

"You aren't sorry." She said with a wry laugh.

"No ma'am. I am not. I've spent every waking minute of the last thirty-six hours trying to find you and bring you home, so I'm not going to pretend that I didn't actually have a conversation with Nadine about whether or not I could get to Landstuhl while you were still there." He exhaled, and glanced out the window. "We are on your street ma'am."

"Go home and get some sleep, alright? We are going to have some hard days ahead, I'm afraid. This is not over, and . . ."

"Your block." He interrupted. "How about this ma'am? Why don't you just worry about this little house for a few days, and let us worry about the White House?"

The car pulled to a stop, and he jumped out, opening the door for her. He helped her down careful of her left arm.

"Thank you, Blake." She said, reaching out with her right hand and patting the side of his face gently. "I'm fine. Go and get some sleep."

"Yes, Madam Secretary." His voice was calm and professional, but he kept one hand on her back as he spoke. She turned and slowly walked up the steps that led into her home. An agent stood on the front stoop and opened the door. He stood where he was until she stepped inside. Climbing back into the SUV, the fell back into the seat.

"Mr. Moran?" Agent Peterson asked, opening the window that separated the front from the back. "Home or office?"

"Home, please." The window shut, and leaning back against the seat, Blake Moran wept.

***MS***

He slept for seventeen hours straight. He had fallen asleep in his suit and awoke in the exact same position as he had fallen asleep in - his arm bent awkwardly under his body. It took nearly five minutes for him to get the feeling back in his fingers. He reached for his cell only to discover that he had 36 messages. He skipped them, and instead looked at his texts. There were three from Henry McCord.

Blake, thank you for all you did. I am so glad that she didn't ride home alone.

He scrolled down to the next text.

She's hell-bent on going in to work. Can you keep an eye on her? I hate to put you

in such an awkward position but honestly what choice do I have?

The last one read:

And make sure she eats something. They gave her pain meds. I made her take one

but we both know she won't take any more. She barely touched any food before

she left. See if you can't get her to eat a salad or something.

It sounded like she was already back at the office. He rubbed the back of his neck. Well, that was just like her. Of course, she wouldn't take a day to recover. He contemplated the phone in his hand, and sent a text before turning to the bathroom to shower and get to the office.

Your wife is frustratingly uncooperative, sir. I will do whatever you ask.

No promises on getting her to eat, though. Shouldn't she be RESTING?

Call me any time. I am at YOUR disposal.

Normally, he would feel tremendous guilt over this exchange, but he was still in recovery from spending nearly four days awake, and suffering from the emotional effects of living in abject terror for thirty-six of them. He had completely lost all sense of professional distance. Before he'd even stepped into the warm shower, his phone pinged with a new text.

Thank you. Please delete this thread. She would be livid at this entire line

of discussion.

He laughed at this, but immediately sent back:

I keep my phone on my person at all times. Never fear.

The phone pinged within seconds:

Ex-CIA, Blake and you and I both know analyst wasn't the sum total of her skills.

He deleted the thread and then stepped into the shower.

***MS***

"Blake!" She called from her inner office, and reluctantly he left his desk.

"Where did you put that file? I gave it to you and now I can't find it anywhere?" She looked up at him from where she sat perched behind her desk, her glasses resting on the end of her nose.

"I gave it back to you, ma'am." He responded gently. "Remember, just before you . . ."

"I think I would know if I had the file, Blake." Her tone was sharp, and he tried to keep his face impassive.

"There it is ma'am." He pointed to the small coffee table near the couch.

"I don't appreciate you leaving things lying around my office." She said tersely, rising and lifting the file from the coffee table.

"Yes, ma'am." He said politely. "Anything else?"

"No." He turned, hoping to escape quickly, but just as he reached the doorway. She called him back.

"Wait, Blake." Her voice was softer in tone. He paused and turned to face her. "I'm sorry. I don't know why I'm so. . . Please, forgive my temper - this jet lag has really thrown me for a loop."

"Well, ma'am. You flew back and forth from Iran in just four and 1/2 days. I can't imagine that would be easy on anyone. Not to mention that you were up for days before you left."

"Yes. Thank you." She nodded at him.

"The motorcade should be here in an hour, ma'am." He added gently before leaving the room. "Will Dr. McCord be meeting you there or should I ask the motorcade to pick him up first."

"He's meeting us at the church." She said, her voice breaking, and he looked up surprised. But she had already turned around going to her desk. He hesitated a second longer and then returned to his desk to find Nadine waiting for him.

"Is now a good time?" She asked, hopefully.

"I don't think so." He answered honestly.

"Well, after the funeral is out. Do you think she intends to come back to the office?"

"Knowing her, she probably will, but I doubt that's Dr. McCord's plan." Blake settled back into his chair with a sigh.

"Alright, I guess it can wait." She smiled at him. "Thank you, Blake."

"You are welcome." He turned to his computer, but looked up when he realized that Nadine hadn't left. "What?"

"Oh, nothing, I guess." She said awkwardly. "I just wanted to say . . ." It was unlike her to be so hesitant, and he sat back in his chair.

"What is it?" He asked.

"You are doing a wonderful job and I know it can't be easy."

"Oh." He said. "Well, what she endured wasn't easy. Did you read the report? I cannot believe that she is standing on two feet, and trying to go back to work as if . . ."

"I couldn't finish it. It was too vivid and I keep seeing her so . . ." She confessed. "Still, Blake, the way you are managing things. It's impressive."

"Yes, ma'am." He blushed slightly. "Thank you." She nodded at him, and went back down the hall to her office. It felt strange getting an outright compliment from Nadine. Then again, absolutely everything was strange since Iran.

He had worried that Iran would destroy her; her hope and her optimism. But he was discovering that Iran might lead to the destruction of them all.

_Author's Note:_

_I struggled with the scene where Blake helps her change her shirt, and also him going to meet her at the airport. Obviously, it should be Henry, but we know from the episode that she just walks in the door. I could see her refusing to let him come to the airport so that she can maintain her Madam Secretary persona, but I hated the thought of her alone so I sent Blake to her. I tried to work the logistics of him meeting up with her in Germany, but that really seemed an overstepping of the bounds. They have a weirdly intimate relationship - without intimacy. There is one episode where she is clearly getting dressed and tucking in her shirt - he simply keeps the conversation going and ignoring the fact that she's dressing. My intention with the shirt was twofold - to allow Blake to see how badly she was hurt - all that blood - geez that freaked me out when I saw the episode - and also to show that sort of strange close connection that they have. Obviously, in real life they would've cut that shirt right off of her, but then again I could see her being willful enough to prevent that from happening. And she comes home wearing a completely different shirt so . . . I guess that's my cheat. Anywho, I hope it isn't too weird. I'm still not sure how I feel about it. I wrote another version where she's wearing a military shirt - that someone gave her - but she wants to put on her own clothes so as not to upset her children, but it felt too forced. Such is the life of the lonely writing - trying to figure out what works and hoping that my audience doesn't hate it!_

_Thanks for all the kind words - especially to those of you who are guests or don't permit PMs so I cannot thank you personally. I'm a little obsessed with Bess and Henry. And I can't wait to see the next episode. I'm glad they are going home to the farm - it seems that they could use a break._


	8. Chapter 8

BLAKE MORAN stepped outside of the reception hall. Fred Cole's funeral was the third funeral he'd attended in the last two days and he was drained. He was seriously considering taking up smoking just to calm his rattled nerves.

"Blake," Henry McCord said as he approached.

"Dr. McCord." He smiled extending a hand which Henry shook.

"I think you should call me Henry." The two of them stood leaning against a low garden wall that ran alongside the packed church. "How are things at the office?"

"Tense." He responded with a quick grin. "How are things at home?"

"'Bout the same. It seems that Americans are mistrustful of an administration that houses a group of international conspiracists."

"Imagine that." Blake said. "At least this is the last funeral."

"Amen to that." Henry glanced at the door that led into the church. He glanced at his watch. "I'll take 36 seconds. What about you?"

"She was pretty edgy in the office this morning - nervous about this. I'll take 26."

They stood in silence watching the doorway and then Elizabeth McCord emerged and headed straight to them. They had discovered that she was completely uncomfortable to find the two them talking alone together. Anytime he stood beside Dr. McCord, she would come dashing out. It made him feel strangely powerful. He was unaccustomed to Elizabeth McCord showing signs of insecurity.

"Damn." Henry said. "Well, that puts you up ten. I'll pay up tomorrow."

"What are you fellas up to?" She asked.

"Nothing, babe." Henry said calmly, an arm around her shoulders. "It's stuffy in there."

"It is." She agreed. She said nothing else and leaned against her husband. Her face was soft and open - a look Blake hadn't seen since before Iran. "Remember that time he and I completely destroyed you and Jason in basketball?" She said thoughtfully.

"You and Fred played basketball together?" Blake's face registered surprise. _When would any of them had time for that? _

"It was after Turkey. Right, Babe?" Henry explained. "And there were some heated words involving the Lakers. And Jason was a little down about the school mess."

"In heels." Secretary McCord told her husband. _"In heels,_Blake! Completely defeated them!"

"I didn't know, Agent Cole wore heels." Blake said with a laugh. They all laughed and then her eyes brimmed with tears. She turned toward her husband burying her face in his shoulder. Blake moved away with a silent nod at Dr. McCord. He headed back into the reception wondering if there was any alcohol. He could use a drink.

***MS***

BLAKE MORAN hoped that after the funerals, things would settle back to normal - or at least close to it. He loved his job and had always loved coming in to work. But he found himself dreading it after Iran. His alarm would buzz and he would immediately have the steel himself. _"You can do this."_ He started giving himself actual pep talks which his friend Andi thought was hilarious.

"Now, look in the mirror and say, 'I am awesome three times!'" Andi's laughter irritated him but he understood the perspective - things had slid wildly out of control.

"Maybe you should just cut your losses?" Andi asked gently.

"I can't." It was hard to explain to any outsiders. He was trapped in a difficult situation that brought him pain - that hurt him but he couldn't leave either.

"You love her, Blake." Andi explained, lifting a hand when Blake started to protest. "No, it's okay and it's appropriate. I mean she's admirable - hell, based on the things you've told me this year, I think _I _might love her." Andi continued softly. "But it makes things pretty difficult right now. Because she's kind of treating you like crap."

He couldn't say anything or offer an argument. Andi was right. Since her return, she had become wholly unpredictable. She was prone to unexplained flashes of anger and had lost her soft edges. It was hard not to let it hurt him.

On an intellectual level, he understood it. He recognized that what had happened in Iran had deeply, deeply wounded her. But it was hard to accept the impact of those wounds. He felt as if there was a closed door between them. She hardly even made eye contact with him anymore. Whenever their eyes did meet, he was filled with aching sorrow at the pain and grief he saw there.

It was hard too because everyone noticed and of course came to him - expecting him to have insight. How is she? Is she alright? They would ask and it hurt him to think, I have no idea. It was an added layer of stress and grief for him - reminding him of the severed ties between them.

His protectiveness got him in deep trouble now, too. Any moves he made to protect or comfort her were met with fury. "Do not, handle me, Blake!" She said angrily. After he had arranged for the nurse to come in to the office, she refused to speak to him for nearly two days.

It was in the middle of all this that he got called into Russell Jackson's office. He was completely terrified but tried to keep a confident look on his face as he sent down across from Mr. Jackson.

"Blake," Russell Jackson said. "You look like a frightened squirrel. Relax, you aren't in any trouble. I just had some questions regarding Secretary McCord."

"Shall I schedule a meeting for you, then?" Blake tried to keep the tremor out of his voice.

"She's not very talkative right now, is she?"

"As is her right." Blake felt a sudden righteous anger. "And I'm very uncomfortable with this meeting. I don't think that . . ."

"Oh, relax, Blake! I'm not asking you to betray her! I've just concerns." Blake stiffened at this and Jackson corrected himself. "I've got concerns _for_ her. I need to know if Face the Nation is going to be a fiasco. The President needs a strong and capable representative and if she is . . ."

"She is the most capable person I've ever met!" Blake rose angry. "And I don't appreciate being hauled in here to help you build your case for her incompetence! How dare you! After all she suffered and all she sacrificed all you care about is your PR!"

He realized the inappropriateness of this outburst too late. He pales at the realization that he had just chewed out the President of the United States Chief of Staff. He waited for the inevitable.

"Alright," Russell Jackson said with a soft chuckle. "Alright. You are right of course. Go back to your desk, Blake."

"Sir, I . . ."

"Don't apologize, son. These have been stressful days for all of us. Go on." He waved a hand toward the door.

"Thank you, sir." He turned to go, but Jackson called to him.

"Blake, pay attention to her breathing."

"Pardon me?"

"If it looks like she's having a hard time breathing, make an excuse and get her out of whatever meeting she's in. Get her somewhere where she can be alone. I don't care if she's meeting with the Queen, if she can't seem to catch her breath, get her out."

"Yes, sir." He walked slowly through the halls of the West Wing, mulling over the conversation. It was so weird. How did Jackson know that sometimes it looked like she couldn't breathe? And why would he let Blake off the hook? He should be fired. Things just kept getting stranger and more complicated.

***MS***

He was not present for her Face the Nation prep, but he had seen her as she left the room, heading straight for the bathroom. Her face was tightly controlled - a looked he'd become familiar with in the last few days. Worried he sought out Nadine.

"What happened?" He asked standing in the doorway.

Nadine rose from behind her desk, instantly angry, "Are Matt and Daisy talking because I will fire their asses so fast if they are . . ."

"No." He held up a hand. "No, Nadine, I saw Secretary McCord in the hallway and she looked . . ."

"It didn't go well." Nadine said sitting down in her chair. "You talk to her husband, don't you? Is she doing alright because she's been . . ."

"If I answer that question, are you gonna fire my ass?" He asked with a raised eyebrow. She shook her head, chuckling.

"Yeah, ok. I appreciate the irony." She said. "Still I'm worried. Are you?"

"I can't remember back to a time when I wasn't worried." He answered honestly, leaning his long frame against the back of a chair. "But what are we going to do?"

"She won't listen."

"No." He agreed. "So, we do our jobs and wait it out."

"Yes, of course."

Leaving her office, he was relieved that she hadn't returned to her desk, and found him missing. She had developed a tendency to question him when he was talking with others. It was a clear expression of her mistrust of him - painful to him, but the reality all the same. On a certain level he understood it was the same reason she panicked whenever she saw him talking with her husband, and stemmed from the mess that Iran seemed to have left - but still, after all they had survived together - her lack of trust hurt him.

His phone pinged and he looked down to find a text from Dr. McCord:

Sorry to bother. Did she eat? I just found her breakfast in the trash.

He sighed, resigned to his life as a rat - spilling her secrets to her husband:

No, but I'm working on it.

The next text was typical of their conversations lately:

Blake, I'm sorry. This is wrong. I won't bother you again.

I've put you in a terrible position, and betrayed her trust.

Forgive me.

Experience taught him that he wouldn't hear from Dr. McCord again - until perhaps tomorrow. The man was clearly torn between his desperate concern for his wife, and his loyalty to the privacy of their relationship. He hated that he had become a part of his horrible cycle of worry and guilt.

Forgiven. And I'll make sure she eats something.

He tossed his phone on his desk, and turned to the work at hand. The only good thing about Iran was that there was plenty to do. He had more than enough to keep himself distracted from the greater problem at hand. Focusing on solving the world's problems was almost enough to help him forget that his boss was slowly unraveling.

***MS***

He tried to ignore the voices coming from her inner office. He knew it was loud because even those at the desks in the outer office were looking up. He kept his face down and kept clicking the keys on his keyboard, although he was typing gibberish. He kept his expression blank so that those beyond his desk wouldn't think it was unusual to hear the Secretary of State chewing out an ambassador. He had almost decided to knock on the door and ask some made-up question just so he could make sure she was alright, when she burst out of the office looking disheveled.

"Can you call 911? I think I'm having a heart-attack?" He dialed the number as she staggered into the conference room. He hung up the phone, and then rushed in after her. She was sitting on the floor, leaning against the long cabinet that ran along the back wall.

"Can you . . ." She was gasping for air. "Call . . . Henry . . . please."

"Yes, ma'am." He hated to leave her alone, instead he crossed to the phone in the back of the room, quickly dialing Nadine's number.

"Protocol 44. I already called 911. The Secretary is in Conference Room C. She is conscious. I'm calling her husband." He blurted it all out and hung up before Nadine had time to react. He glanced up and saw her in the outer office directing security to meet the ambulance, and evacuating the outer staff. He hit speed dial on his phone.

"Henry?" His use of his first name was an immediate red flag.

"What's wrong?" Dr. McCord's voice rose in pitch.

"An ambulance is on route, Dr. McCord. I don't know. She said she thought she was having a heart attack. I'm right here with her. She's conscious right now."

"GW?" He asked breathlessly.

"Yes."

"Tell her I'll be right there." He could hear that Dr. McCord was running.

"Nadine probably already sent a car. Let them drive you." He said into the phone, but Dr. McCord had either dropped his phone or hung up.

He dropped down beside her, a hand on her shoulder. "He's on his way." He looked up to see the paramedics making their way toward them. "Hang in there, ma'am. Help is coming." Her ragged breathing terrified him. He stayed beside her and she clung tight to his arm. "The paramedics are here." He told her. "Henry will be at the hospital."

It took every ounce of his willpower not to climb into the elevator with her and the paramedics. Protocol was clear. They had drills and practiced. His job was to stay behind and man the phones. He looked up at Jay and Nadine who stood to his left watching.

"They'll call us." Nadine said wistfully.

Jay put a hand on his shoulder squeezing. "She'll be okay, Blake."

"What is going on?" They all turned to find Minister Chen standing in the doorway of her office. "Has she completely lost her mind?"

Blake took a step forward, his fists balled tightly, a fury building, but Jay caught his arm, holding him back, as Nadine stepped toward Minister Chen.

"I am so sorry, Minister Chen. We are going to have to reschedule this meeting. The Secretary is unwell, and we apologize for any inconvenience."

"Unwell!" He said angrily. "You will be hearing from us." And he stormed away.

"What happened, Blake?" Nadine turned on him.

"I don't know. I wasn't in the room." He directed his anger at her. "She is having a heart attack, Nadine. Maybe we can wait to see if she lives before we are critical of her diplomatic skills, alright?" He stormed back to his desk.

He expected a text, but the call came through about an hour later.

"Blake?" He could tell just by the sound of Henry McCord's voice that she must be alright.

"How is she?" He tried to keep the desperate edge out of his voice.

"She's fine. Blake, thank you for acting so quickly." Henry said. "Listen, I don't want to have this conversation over the phone. But I knew you must be so . . .she's fine, though, Blake. Can you meet me in the lobby?"

"I'll be right there." He was already reaching for his coat.

He was standing in the lobby waiting for him, when he rushed up to meet him. Dr. McCord led him outside into a garden which due to the fact that it was about 20 below zero, was completely empty.

"It wasn't a heart attack." Was the first thing he told him.

"Oh, thank God." Blake said genuinely relieved. "I was so worried. She looked so pale!"

"Listen, Blake, you and I have this sort of strange relationship. I mean, you know my loyalty is to her, and her alone."

"Yes, as it should be." He studied the older man's face.

"But the truth is, you are the only other person who sees her as much as I do. Hell, lately you see her more." He lifted a hand, rubbing his forehead. "And it isn't a betrayal of her trust to tell you she isn't doing so great. I mean, you already know that."

"Yes, sir."

"And I'm worried. You know, I just can't . . . She won't let us help her. She's just not ready, yet." He swallowed hard and Blake looked up suddenly filled with anxiety.

"If it wasn't a heart attack then . . ."

"Panic attack." Henry McCord said flatly.

"Oh." Blake said, understanding.

"And she's not . . . it's really, really hard for her."

"I know." Blake met Dr. McCord's eyes, and they studied one another in silence for a long minute.

"She can't . . . it's too hard to talk about. And if word got out, she'd be so . . ." Blake had never known the professor to be at a loss for words.

"I would never tell anyone, anything sir. You know where my loyalties lie." His response came out almost angry.

"No, I know that. Blake, I'm not at all concerned about that. I just don't know how we can . . .we have to protect her. Protect her reputation. You understand what I'm saying?"

"I do." Blake agreed.

Henry took a few steps away from him. "I gotta get back. Stevies with her, but . . ." He sighed facing Blake. "She wants to go back to work. Today."

Blake's shoulders sagged. "Jesus! How much longer is she going to . . ." But he stopped himself, realizing what he'd said. "I'm sorry, sir. I didn't mean to . . ."

But Henry McCord just smiled at him. "I was so worried, you know. It felt like it was going to be the CIA all over again. This town. This goddamn town! People are waiting with knives sharpened to stab you in the back. And she's so filled with hope and trust!" He shook his head. "And I couldn't go through it all again - watching her get her heart broken over and over. But then the first time I met you, I breathed a little sigh of relief."

Blake looked up surprised by this.

"I mean, you've got an honest face, Blake and the way you look at her, I knew I could trust you. That no matter what else happens in this town, at least you would be looking out for her."

"Yes, sir." Blake said suddenly serious. "Until I die."

Henry McCord put a heavy hand on his shoulder. "Be careful son. Fred Cole said the same damn thing." He turned to head back inside the building. "Don't text me, Blake. Call me if she even gets a catch in her voice. She should go home, but that might be the most stubborn woman that the God Lord ever made."

"Yes, sir." He watched Henry McCord go back inside the hospital, and then with a heavy sigh turned back to go to the State Department offices, determined to do everything in his power to support her even if she did everything in _her_ power to prevent it.


	9. Chapter 9

BLAKE MORAN stood in the hall in utter panic. He watched Secretary McCord disappear into her office, clearly distraught. He glanced at Mike B, who said without any compassion, "Well, she's done."

Blake glared at him.

"Oh, don't look at me like that. This town doesn't leave room for emotional breakdown. Where's Nadine?" He turned down the hall and headed to Nadine's office.

It was just one minute later that Blake's phone buzzed.

"Hello."

"Blake," He didn't recognize Henry McCord's voice at first. "I need your help."

"She's in her office, sir and I . . ."

"I've got her on the other line. I'm coming to get her."

"Okay, sir."

"Can you get her downstairs?"

"Yes, sir."

"Without an audience?"

Blake looked around. Suddenly it seemed that office was teeming with people. He considered the problem carefully.

"How long?"

"I will be there in twenty minutes." Henry said. "And Blake she's . . . She isn't . . ."

"I'll manage, sir." Blake answered. "Don't worry."

He hung up and considered the problem thoughtfully. Nadine had disappeared with Mike B - no doubt covering the meeting she was missing. Looking up he could see the door to the stairs. It was maybe sixty feet. All he had to do was to get her from point A to point B. And suddenly, he knew the simplest way to distract everyone around her. He turned and found Frank standing outside her office.

"Frank!" Blake approached him.

"Mr. Moran." Frank nodded at him.

"I've got a problem and was wondering if maybe you could help me out?"

Frank moved closer to him, and Blake glanced around nervously.

"Everything alright, Mr. Moran?"

"Well sir, not really. Secretary McCord is going home."

"I didn't . . ."

"Dr. McCord just called me. She's on the phone with him. And I need to get her downstairs. He'll meet her there."

"I'm going to need to inform my men." Frank turned to leave.

"Wait. I need to get her downstairs, _privately_." He leaned heavily on the last word, waiting as understanding dawned on Frank's face.

Frank considered Blake for a moment. "I see."

He glanced around the office. "I'm going to need about ten minutes. Can you get her ready?"

"Sure, but what are you going to do?"

"Well, we are due for a drill, aren't we?" Frank raised an eyebrow at Blake. "Go get her ready. And tell Dr. McCord that it's no one's business but theirs."

"Thank you, Frank." Blake was utterly relieved.

"I was there." Frank added. "It keeps _me_ awake at night. Ten minutes. Head straight for the stairs if anyone even glances your way, leave it to us. Just keep moving."

***MS***

He had thought that figuring out a way to get her out without being seen would be the most challenging part but standing outside her closed door, he was filled with terrifying anxiety. He didn't think he could open it.

He knocked softly and then entered. At first he didn't see her, and then he heard her voice, soft and frightened.

"Madam Secretary?" She was sitting on the floor, and he felt his heart skip a beat, so shocked to see her looking so fragile.

"No, he's here." She said into her phone. "Henry, I don't want . . ." But the rest of the sentence was swallowed up in a sob. She ducked her head, one hand hiding her face.

"Ma'am," He crouched in front of her. "Let's get you home, alright?"

She looked up at him and he had to admire her bravery. Even in this shattered moment, she had a fierce strength. "Alright."

He put a hand under her arm, and helped her stand. He stood close enough that he could hear Henry's voice through the phone.

"Okay, babe, Blake will stay with you. I'm already on my way. Just hang in there a little longer."

"You must be so pleased that you were right." She said bitterly.

"No, babe. Never. Liz, it's okay. Baby, Blake will never talk. Hon, it's okay. God, you know I was wrong. You _are_ tougher than a Navy SEAL. Just go with Blake, okay darlin'."

"I am. But everyone is going to . . . I can't stop crying."

She choked on a sob and Blake gave up any pretense of not bearing witness to the conversation. He put a long arm around her shoulders, holding her tight against him. She leaned in and whispered into the phone.

"Henry, I'm sorry, I . . ."

"It's okay, baby. Don't even worry about it. I'm so proud of you, sweetheart. You are strong enough to ask for help. Listen baby, everything is going to be . . . We'll make it better again, okay? You and me. Hang up now, Lizzie. Do what Blake says."

He kept his face passive, trying to steel himself against the raw intimacy of it. She slid the phone into her pocket. And ran a hand over her face.

"How do I look?" She gave a self-deprecating grin.

"Gorgeous." He said, without any hesitation. And her eyes filled with fresh tears. "Let's go ma'am." They waited at the door until he heard a firm knock. He kept her to his left, his arm still around her. They walked rapidly to the stairwell as four agents moved to his right. He could hear Frank's voice, authoritative and calm. "Alright, people. Let's keep moving."

They walked slowly down the stairs and when they reached the bottom, the silence after all the stress and excitement was punctuated only by her soft breathing, and an occasional whimper.

"He should be here any minute, Madam Secretary."

"Blake, I'm so . . ." She kept her face down and away from him.

"Ma'am? You remember when you visited those veterans? That first month you were in office?" He paused to make sure she was listening and she turned her said slightly, waiting.

"I threw up. You remember? We saw that boy. He'd lost both his legs, one eye and his hand. You sat beside him and held his one good hand, so calmly. You talked to him and helped him write that letter to his grandma. God, it was so horrible and so sweet. You were so kind to him, and afterwards, I threw up in the trashcan in the hall." He blushed, still ashamed at the memory.

"You didn't say one word to me about it." He sighed. "I was so embarrassed but you just waited. I remember, you stood beside me while I wretched my guts out with one hand on my back. And after, you handed me a handkerchief. And you told me to never be ashamed of having an open heart."

She looked up at him. "It was upsetting." She said softly. "He was so young and had such a gentle spirit. Anyone would be effected by him."

"Yes, ma'am" He agreed. "You are a such kind and compassionate woman, ma'am. You have such an open heart. And Iran was . . .you can't help but be hurt by that kind of darkness." He paused, waiting to see if she would react to his directness with anger but she remained silent. "This day," He said gently. "You've no reason for embarrassment or shame. It just proves how very good you are." He swallowed as she turned to look at him and he found that he was unashamed of the tears that were in his eyes. "Standing beside you - working for you - it's an honor ma'am." He said softly, and he squeezed her shoulder gently.

The car arrived not long after that, and Dr. McCord sprang out before it had even rolled to a stop. She didn't move and Dr. McCord stepped in front of her. Blake moved away, taking several steps back, allowing her the privacy to fall apart in her husband's arms without an audience.

"Elizabeth," He heard Dr. McCord say. "Let's go home, babe."

He glanced over his shoulder, as she ducked inside the car. He watched as Henry slid in beside her and she turned toward her husband, melting into him, her face a portrait of sadness; of devastation. He stood silent and frozen for a long moment, and then turned - not returning to the office but out through the icy city streets - unaware of anything other than the uneven beating of his own heart.


	10. Chapter 10

"Did you hear, Blake?" Daisy asked, her face a portrait of happiness. "She booked Face the Nation!"

"Sometimes it feels as if you have no understanding of what I actually do here, Daisy." Blake gave weary sigh. "She doesn't pick up the phone and book an appearance, you know. She's the Secretary of State of the United States of America. She has an assistant for that."

Daisy glared at him. "Ok, I get that you are her Girl Friday, Blake but a simple 'yes' would've been fine."

Blake gave her a tight, fake smile. "Really? She booked it? That's great news." He rolled his eyes at her.

"Cranky?" She exhaled glancing around. "Still 'resting'?"

"I can hear the air quotes, you know. The Secretary is at home, yes. She flew back and forth from Iran in a four day period, was nearly killed in a coup, came home and attended five funerals, and went to countless meetings. But, you are right, taking a day and a half off is excessive."

"Alright then, sunshine. I'm going to go. You know the press is more friendly than you are."

He watched her walk away, and turned back to his computer screen. He recognized that his protective sensibilities were in overdrive, but he could seem to manage his emotions in relation to Face the Nation. He'd actually argued with Dr. McCord about it. As soon as he'd got off the phone with her, he'd dialed her husband.

"So, you think this is a good idea?" He demanded as soon as Dr. McCord picked up.

"Good afternoon, Blake."

"I don't have time for that. She wants me to book Face the Nation. They want to interview tomorrow morning. Really? You think that's the best thing for her?"

"Blake, you realize only one of us is actually married to her, right?"

This stopped Blake in his tracks and he sputtered embarrassed into the phone. "I didn't . . . I was just . . ." He sighed recognizing that he had overstepped his bounds by about a mile. "Could you tell her they want to film early so they can make air time tomorrow. 7 am in her office."

"Sure, Blake." Henry McCord's voice was surprisingly gentle.

"Dr. McCord I apologize for . . ."

"Blake, can you keep her schedule clear the rest of the day? I think Face the Nation is more than enough for one day, don't you? She'll work from home."

"Yes, sir." He said ashamed.

"And Blake, you don't have to apologize for the rest. It's not like I don't agree with you. What happened to her is no one's goddamned business, but she doesn't see it that way. And it's pretty damn hard to get Elizabeth McCord to change her mind, but this, you already know. Right, Blake?"

"Yes, sir." Blake agreed with a sigh. "I'll keep her schedule clear, sir but if she asks, I'm going to make it clear who's idea _that_ was."

"Atta boy. Thank you." Henry said with a light laugh.

He hung up the phone, shaking his head. He still thought Face the Nation was a horrible idea but then again so was going to Iran.

***MS***

Watching Henry McCord fight with Nadine and Daisy was the most satisfying thing Blake had ever witnessed. He had thought he was going to have to be the one to tell them they couldn't watch the interview but Henry McCord had jumped in without hesitation.

"Sir, you can't expect me to walk into that press room blind? That's unreasonable." Daisy said.

"My wife isn't your exclusive property, Daisy. And she's not some character in a drama." His voice was even but firm. "She is a human being and she has limits. It will be Mr. Schieffer, the camera man, the producer, Elizabeth and me. That's it."

"Dr. McCord, I understand your need to protect her," Nadine tried, gently. " but what is Secretary McCord's stance on the issue?"

Henry made no reply, crossing his arms over his chest. Nadine looked over at Blake. "Blake?"

"I'll defer to Dr. McCord." Blake said with a grin. "He seems to have a handle on his wife's wishes."

"We won't know anything." Daisy continued. "I can't . . .this isn't an acceptable situation."

"We can cancel it." Henry offered with a shrug and Blake had to stifle a laugh. "If that would be more acceptable?"

"All due respect, ," Daisy began.

"All due respect, Ms. Grant, that is my wife, and I'm telling you what is going to happen. This isn't a discussion. You aren't going to appeal to my sense of loyalty to this administration. My loyalty is to her and her alone. She's the only administration I care about and this is personal and painful, and private."

"It is." Nadine said quietly even as Daisy opened her mouth to protest. "Forgive us, sir. We honestly were focused on protecting her image. It wasn't any kind of opportunism . . ."

"No. I didn't think that." He said, but Blake wondered at it. Daisy had tendencies toward opportunism. It wasn't that she was a bad person but that she had a determined and clear agenda.

The whole time they were filming he tried to stay busy. He couldn't imagine what it was like for her to retell the story. She was a very private person - especially when it came to her inner life. She wasn't the kind of person who sat around discussing her personal life in the office. Everything he knew about her, he had learned through quiet observation. And now, due to circumstance wildly beyond her control, she was forced to discuss what appeared to be one of the most difficult moments of her life on national tv.

He kept his head down when she finally emerged from her office. They had already taken random shots of all of them in the office the day before, and more earlier before the interview. Her interview had been the last part that they filmed. It was just after noon when the doors opened and she and Dr. McCord stepped out with Bob Schieffer at their side.

"It was a pleasure meeting you, Madam Secretary." He said. "I had already taken note of you before Iran. I wish a few more politicians followed your lead."

"Oh, well," And her laugh sounded genuine. "But I'm not a politician."

"Ah, the honesty makes sense now." He said laughing.

They bid goodbye to him and she paused at Blake's desk. "Blake Moran." She said with a grin. "Do you ever go home? Do you have a home?"

He laughed at this. "Well, ma'am, I wait for you to leave and then head to the beach."

"That explains the tan." She teased. "You think you can manage another day without me? Captain McCord here has given orders."

"I'll endure, ma'am but if you need anything please call."

"Thank you, Blake." She smiled warmly at him, a smile on her face, and then she was gone.

***MS***

He found himself on the steps of their house in the late afternoon with three files and a pint of Caramel turtle fudge ice cream. She had texted him about the files and the ice cream was his best defense against difficult days.

He was surprised to see her open the front door herself.

"Don't you have people to open doors for you, ma'am?" He asked as he stepped into the entryway.

"Blake!" She burst out laughing. "What image do you have of us?"

Her laughter brought her husband out into the hall and he smiled at Blake offering his hand.

"Back from the beach?" He teased.

He handed over the files and the ice cream. "I was going to bring you flowers." He explained suddenly self-conscious. Alison McCord stood in the doorway watching with wide, brown eyes. "But then I thought what on earth would you want with flowers. Ice cream is the thing for you!"

Henry laughed. "Blake, you have summed up all of Elizabeth McCord in one sentence. We must never let foreign dignitaries know of this powerful weakness."

"I'll guard it with my life." He agreed with a nod. "If you need anything else, ma'am." He continued, reaching out, and squeezing her mother's hand. "Even if it is just a second round of ice cream, call me. I am at your service."

"Take it easy, Blake you can overdo the perfection."

He shrugged at this and she and her husband walked with him to the vestibule. "Good evening." He said politely but Dr. McCord had reached out squeezing his shoulder tightly.

"Thank you." He said with a quiet grin. "Especially for the other day. Elizabeth and I are very grateful you were there. It meant a lot to her and to me."

"You are welcome." He turned to face her and bid her goodbye but she surprised him by kissing his cheek.

"You are too thin, Blake." She said gently. "Eat something, alright? And don't worry, I may not be fine just yet but I'm headed in the right direction."

"Yes, ma'am." He nodded his head leaving her inside her warm house, her family around her.

***MS***

Both Kris and Andi, offered to watch it with him but he felt the need to be alone. He had actually taken her advice and gorged himself on the biggest meal he'd eaten since that cold night she had left to go home and tell her husband she was going straight into the lion's den.

Watching was surreal. He hadn't heard any details and the vivid re-enactment made him physically ill. The pictures of her being led to the SUVs in Germany filled his heart with sorrow. He recognized the torn shirt, suddenly remembering he'd stuffed into his jacket pocket. He went to the closet and dug it out. The blood left a dark brown stain and the arm had several tears in it and more blood. Just seeing the shirt reminded him of the deeply pained, haunted look her eyes had held. He tossed the shirt into his fireplace and watched it burn. He turned his attention back to the tv and listened to her voice - not the words but the sound of it. It conveyed a sadness but he could hear the strength in it too.

Yet, he was impressed by her - she didn't break down - at least not during anything they aired. Even when the questions were personal, her face remained calm and open - her voice steady. And listening to her speak with tremendous conviction about her resolve to broker peace in the middle east, he recognized that the state department would never be her limit. He wondered if everyone else who watched the episode had the same thought he did: _I would vote for her for president_.

***MS***

Daisy had the good sense not to be over celebratory the next day. She had assembled the staff together first thing in the morning. Mike B hoovered in the back of the room, clearly disapproving of the entire meeting.

"You did a magnificent job yesterday, ma'am." Daisy said.

"Thank you." She nodded curtly. "I am happy to have that behind us."

"Yes, ma'am." Daisy said.

"Alright, it isn't like we don't have a lot of work to do, but I did want to thank you for filling in the gap for the last few days." She smiled at them, and he heard Mike B sigh. She turned her head to glare at him. "Now, I need those numbers Jay, and Blake see if you can reschedule that meeting I missed with Italian delegates. I seem to remember an opening in my schedule this afternoon."

They all dispersed returning to the work at hand, but she called to Nadine, who paused, waiting.

"I wanted to thank you for mopping up my mess with Minister Chen." She said with an embarrassed grin. "I was very unprofessional and . . ."

"No need for a thank you." Nadine said, her voice even. "It was job."

The two woman observed each other silently, until finally Secretary McCord reached out, and squeezing Nadine's hand said, softly, "Thank you, all the same."

"Blake!" She called turning away from Nadine, who was already walking to her own office. "C'mon you can witness Mike B upbraiding me for thanking my staff."

"I just don't think it is necessary. They've got one job - all day, every day to make sure you look good, so thanking them like that is just going to make them think they went out of their way to do what they did. Nadine is right, ma'am. It was her job."

Elizabeth McCord rolled her eyes, and shook her head at Blake. "You know I did this to myself bringing him in here - and then he acts like every decision I make is amateru hour."

"You've got a little bit of that going on from time to time." Mike B said flopping on the couch. "Hey, Blake, is there any chance of coffee?"

"Yes. Madam Secretary?" He looked over at her with raised eyebrows.

"No, thank you, Blake. I'm limited to just two cups a day, and I'm saving one for later. Make sure you tell that to Dr. McCord next time he texts you." She winked at him, and he walked away from her sputtering.

"I don't know what you mean . . ." He said to her.

"I'm sure you don't." But she had already turned to her desk, and was sliding her glasses on her face, ready to tackle the next problem to come their way.

***MS***

_Author's Note: Thank you for all the kind reviews. This story is coming to a close, I'm afraid. I've just got one more perspective to give. I toyed with the idea of looking at things from Fred Cole's perspective but it just seemed too mired in sorrow - I liked Fred! The other agent that they mentioned by name is Frank, but I couldn't find his last name anywhere. Also, is anyone else super intrigued by the fact that STILL have dealt with Juliet? I bet that is going to be the season finale. _


	11. Chapter 11

NADINE TOLLIVER wasn't known for her compassion. Some described her as a Cast Iron Bitch. She didn't mind - not really. At least she didn't before. When Vincent was alive, not much else had mattered to her. She felt foolish looking back on it now. She was too old to behave like a foolish child with a crush - blind to all her lover's flaws.

After the crash, she had expected to be fired. She was ready to be telling her sorrowful tale of how she _lost everything_ \- her love, her job, and her hopes for a future. She'd been stunned when they'd all been kept on - it seemed like such a foolish, rookie move at the time. Now, in hindsight, it seemed like the best choice under the circumstances.

Secretary McCord had little political clout and hadn't worked for the CIA in nearly a decade. All her connections were from the past, and they knew the office - understood their role. She eyed the small, blonde woman suspiciously. _She's in over her head!_ She thought, shaking her head at the ridiculousness of Vincent's replacement.

She had a plan. She would make herself completely invaluable to the new Secretary of State, and then when the moment felt right, just walk away. Sure, they would plead and beg for her to stay, but she was looking forward to watching it all burn to the ground. She was tired of sacrificing herself for the good of the Nation - and she certainly wasn't going to maintain the kind of commitment and loyalty to a _child_ who stepped into Vincent's office without even understanding her role.

But then, Secretary McCord, defied her expectations. She was thoughtful, committed and compassionate. She proved to be a wise negotiator and managed to get more accomplished in just a few weeks than she'd ever seen anyone in Washington. What started as a begrudging acquiescence to Secretary McCord's abilities, eventually grew into outright admiration of Elizabeth McCord's political and strategic prowess. Watching her manage difficult moments she had to admit she was an impressive diplomat. Perhaps President Dalton had made the right choice.

Since Vincent's death, she'd carried their relationship inside her like a dirty secret. When she had finally fallen apart and confessed her affair with Marsh, she expected chastisement and judgement.

_It sounds like your heart is broken_.

That one sentence had slayed her completely. People in Washington didn't show compassion or understanding. It was the land of kill or be killed. She had become so accustomed to keeping her heart locked away - closed up tight that genuine compassion devastated her.

The longer she worked for the new Secretary of State, the more she recognized that while Vincent Marsh was a career politician, Elizabeth McCord was an actual public servant who had a mind that ran at least twenty levels above his. Looking backwards at things now, she recongized who the amateaur really was.

***MS***

"What do you mean, we've lost all contact?" Nadine said into the phone. "I don't understand."

Blake looked up from where he'd been working, trying to finalize the upcoming schedules. His eyes instantly wide with worry.

"I understand. Yes. We will try the embassy then." Nadine said, her voice clipped. "No, keep us posted."

"What happened?" Blake said his voice rising in pitch.

"We lost all contact with her team." Nadine said gently.

"Lost contact?"

"Blake, we don't know what has happened, yet." She spoke slowly and carefully. "We have important work to do. I need you to round everybody up. We need to try and work the embassies - see what information we can get."

He stood blinking at her - clearly unnerved.

"Blake," She continued, her voice more firm. "Can you get Matt and Daisy? They went downstairs to get some coffee. I need you to work."

He blinked several more times, and then nodded his head. "Yes, ma'am." He turned and left in rapid confident strides. She stayed where she was beside her desk a brief second longer. She was knee-deep into calls with the Swiss embassy when she got called to the situation room.

"I have to go to the Woodshed." She told Blake. The kid was pale and in his shirt-sleeves which was downright sloppy for the neat assistant.

"Oh, God! Ma'am!" His eyes clouded.

"Keep working the phones." She said firmly and without hesitation he turned back to the phone, and continued the desperate effort to get some information; to get her back.

She had been in the situation room a few times but never under such difficult circumstances. It was intense and seeing John - a familiar face from the Secretary's detail shook her to the core. She stumbled out into the hallway afterward - her mind running in a thousand different directions when Russell Jackson stopped her.

"Ms. Tolliver?" He said.

"Yes, sir."

"If the BBC has put it up on their website, we had better. . ."

"I'll call him, now." She said.

"Alright." He hesitated for the briefest of seconds. "Okay." He turned and walked the opposite way.

Blake was waiting for her when she got back but she waved him off. "Give me a few minutes." She told him. "Get everyone in the conference room."

Stepping into her office, she fought a wave of emotion. Chances were pretty good that Henry McCord was scouring the news for word of Iran. The solid bond between the Secretary of State and her husband was no secret. Sometimes it brought pain to Nadine when she saw the two of them together. What she had with Vincent was nothing like the clear, sweet connection between the McCords. It filled her with envy and then with sadness that she wasted so much time and energy in a relationship that was so far off from actual committed love.

"What's going on?" His voice was quiet and she didn't know him well enough to know if it was from anger or fear.

"I am sorry but we lost contact with her team."

"When?" His voice was ice cold; the word clipped.

"About twenty minutes ago - maybe more. She was at Minister Javani's house. That was the last place they checked in, but we can't reach any of them."

"She's dead, then?"

The catch in his voice drove her to lower herself into a nearby chair.

"No. We don't know that. Sir, the BBC is reporting that a coup is under way and I knew you would be . . . I just wanted you to know what we know."

"Which is nothing!" He exploded. "How the hell can they lose contact? She's fourth in line to the presidency! She said there would be security!"

"I don't know, sir. I'm sorry. I wish I had more information. But I promise that I will keep you informed. Everything I know, you will know."

"I . . . I appreciate that. I'm . . ." He paused, his voice softening. "I'm sorry, Nadine. It isn't your fault . . . You will keep me updated?"

"Yes, sir. I'm so sorry I don't have any clear information for you." She paused thoughtfully. "I am praying, sir."

"Thank you." His voice was husky with tears. "Please don't say anything to the kids. She . . ." He fought briefly for control. "She wouldn't want them worrying."

She hung the phone covering her face with her hands. "Oh, God!" She said aloud. Taking a few minutes, she took in slow, deep breaths trying to calm her racing heart.

They had brought in their laptops and we're gathered around the huge conference table, working. Their voices were a steady hum and her eyes filled with tears. They'd faced enough loss together, and this . . . this would shatter them. She hesitated before stepping fully into the room, unsure she could go through it all again. Blake was going to lose it.

She managed to get through it all - mostly by never looking down at Blake who sat to her right. She got to the end and tried to move toward a chair but stumbled a little as she said, "Fred Cole is dead."

Jay caught her, pulling her against his side as she fought off a sob. They all turned as Blake collapsed, his forehead hitting the table. She sprung into action then, but he revived nearly instantly.

"The Swiss were on hold." He said, his voice deep and sharp. "They were making some headway."

And they returned to the task in front of them more determined than ever - get it done. Find her. Bring her home.

***MS***

Nothing was more typically Washington than Russell Jackson calling Henry McCord to let him know that his wife was alive and coming home. Nadine was so overjoyed that it took her a few hours to realize that he had asked _her_ to call when the news was bad but when it was good, he was more than happy to take over.

She would remember all her days, throwing open the conference room doors and watching the room explode with joy as she said two simple words: "She's alive." They all cheered and Blake collapsed into a chair. She followed suit, falling into a chair beside Blake. Exhausted and overwhelmed with emotion, she'd stayed where she was, listening to cheers reverberating through the building as the news spread. _Thank God! Thank God!_ She thought and closing her eyes she pictured the face of Elizabeth McCord. She remembered suddenly something from early on - probably during her first week in office. Secretary McCord had faced a long and difficult day of meetings, and seemed weary, and then suddenly everything had changed. Her face lit up with joy and Nadine turned her head to see what the new Secretary of State was smiling at. It was her husband and the two youngest children. Blake was leading them into the office where she and Nadine had been working.

Even her voice changed as she greeted them - light and happy. She wrapped her arms around her husband who seemed equally joyous to see her. At the time, Nadine had felt it was a sign of how much a fish out of water Elizabeth McCord was - she belonged with her family and _not_ heads of state. Now, as she reflected on the news that she was safe and coming home, all Nadine could really remember from that day, were the smiles on her children's faces as they greeted their mother and the light in Henry McCord's eyes as she pulled him into an embrace.

***MS***

"So by the time I would reach Germany, she would be gone?" Blake stood beside her desk, looking exhausted and rumpled.

"Yes." She said for the third time, trying to keep the sound of irritation out other voice. "Blake, she will want her _family_. I know it is difficult but you are going to have to wait."

"She won't let him meet her." Blake insisted. "Check, Nadine. I guarantee that she told him to wait at home."

"Surely, she would . . ."

"You _ever_ see her cry?" Blake pointed out. "She keeps things private."

Nadine considered this. Elizabeth McCord was unflinching in the workplace. The only time she'd ever seen her truly distraught was in India when they didn't know where Alison was. Even then, after she'd been found, after Secretary McCord had thrown her arms around her daughter sobbing gratefully, she had turned almost immediately back to face them. Tears still hung in her bright blue eyes and she kept an arm around her children as she asked, "Ok, what can we do to help?"

"Someone should be there when she lands." Blake insisted. "It's twenty-seven minutes from the airport to her house. She's supposed to go home alone?"

Nadine sighed, letting go of her irritation, Blake was unflinchingly devoted to his boss. He came in early and stayed late. He was efficient and relentlessly protective. The last three days had been grindingly painful for him. She put a gentle hand on his shoulder.

"She's okay, Blake. And she might not like you showing up. Dr. McCord is the only person she's going to want to see."

"I know." Blake's shoulders sagged. "But, I just want to _see_ she's alright. And I can't bare the thought of no one being there to welcome her home."

"I will check into it, Blake. For God's sake, at least go eat something. You look terrible. And if she is coming home alone, you are going to have to be able to stand upright if you are going to be the one to meet her."

"Yes, ma'am." He kept his head down, his voice soft. She exhaled. Blake was a capable and efficient worker - a grown man who was well over six feet tall, but sometimes, she just really wanted to pour him a glass of milk and give him a cookie.

"Blake," She said, her voice much more gentle, her hand on his arm. She stepped closer, peering up into his face. "She made it out safe. We are bringing her home. Go eat something, and then check back in with me, okay?"

He said nothing more, but nodded his head and surprising her completely, pulled her into a very quick embrace. He moved away from her quickly, and said over his shoulder as he left, "Thank you, Nadine."

It turned out Blake was right. After she called Diplomatic Services, she learned that Secretary McCord had indeed insisted that her husband stay at home with their children. She had first talked to Mike, who was still in D.C., but eventually he patched her through to Frank Engle who was in the air with Secretary McCord, having survived the coup in Iran, himself.

"Frank! Are you alright?" She asked, genuinely stunned to be talking to him.

"I'm fine ma'am. If you were hoping to speak to the Secretary, I'm afraid that won't be possible, ma'am." His voice was quiet.

"No, I was just . . . we were concerned that there would be no one to meet her when she landed."

"Well, she has refused to allow her husband to meet her. Ma'am, I don't know what you've heard, but . . ." He hesitated. "Things were pretty bad here. And, she's very . . ."

"I've been briefed by Russell Jackson." Nadine told him. "I don't know everything, but what I heard was very disturbing. I am so sorry about Fred Cole."

"Yes, ma'am." He said quietly.

"Blake Moran will meet her at the landing field, if that's possible." Nadine said decisively.

"Oh, good." Frank sounded genuinely relieved. "We are going to pull the plane straight into the hangar. She isn't ready for any press."

"I will make sure Blake is there."

"Ma'am," Frank sounded unusually hesitant. "He'll need to bring her some clothes."

"Oh - kay." Nadine couldn't hide the question in her voice.

"She wouldn't . . . It would kill Dr. McCord to see her in that bloody . . ." Frank Engl, drew in a deep breath. "Tell him to bring her some clothes. Alright, ma'am?"

"Yes. Thank you."

She felt physically ill after she hung up, and had to sit at her desk, laying her head against the cool flat surface. She stayed like that until she heard her name.

"Nadine?"

She looked up to see Jay standing in the doorway. She sat up and quickly put a smile across her face.

"There isn't more news, is there?" He asked concerned.

"I thought you went home." She said to him.

"I was just on my way out." He told her. "I had to . . .ma'am? Is everything alright?"

"Yes." She said rising and crossing to where he stood. "Everything is fine. Go home, Jay. You know Abby has been waiting up for you. Go home, and make sure she's alright."

He nodded his head, and she remained in the doorway looking out across the office. Most everyone had gone home. She didn't remember any more if it was day or night, and had to look out the window. They'd gotten the call in the early hours of the morning. She stretched her tired muscles, and tried to forget the sound of Frank Engle's voice. Tried to forget the image of Elizabeth McCord in the middle of a firefight in Iran, with Fred Cole dead beside her.


	12. Chapter 12

NADINE TOLIVER awoke refreshed. For the first time in days, she actually felt tension free. She felt so good that, defying her usual routine, she didn't touch her phone until after she had showered, dressed and sat down to a cup of hot tea. She immediately felt tension return. There were three calls from Blake and several texts. The first one she read made no sense.

-I've reached being hysterical. Sorry for the calls. I keep seeing that bloody shirt. This is bad.-

She scrolled through to his first text.

-M'Sec home.-

-Just dropped her off. Doubt she will be in tomorrow but we didn't discuss it.-

-call me, please.-

-worried. M'Sec injured-

She felt her heart rate pick up at this text. The texts stretched out over several hours, each one painting a darker picture. The one that really got to her was his third to last to her.

-her eyes were so . . . I can only hope being home with her family helps. I'm very worried. Her shirt was covered in blood. I don't know if it was all just hers, either. Thank God, Frank thought to have me bring clothes! I can't imagine her children seeing that. We have to be careful with her. She seemed so fragile. I don't know. Maybe being home and Dr. McCord will restore her but I am worried-

She glanced at the clock and dialed Blake's number.

"'Lo?" The poor kid sounded groggy with sleep.

"Blake, I'm sorry if I woke you. This is Nadine. I just got all your texts."

She heard him sigh. "Oh, ma'am, I apologize. I had a glass, well, actually probably closer to a bottle of wine, when I got home and . . ."

"Was anything you said untrue?"

"You always cut straight through to what matters." He said with a soft chuckle. "No," he admitted. "Everything was true."

Silence hung heavy between them. Nadine considered the situation thoughtfully.

"The next few days could be tricky." She said at last.

"Yes." He agreed. "Oh, shit!"

"What?"

"I just got a text from . . .shes going in."

"Today?" Nadine was stunned.

"Dr. McCord just sent me a text."

"I'll leave now." She told him, already rising from her table. "Blake, we need to keep this between us, alright?"

"Seriously, ma'am? I'm not even all that comfortable discussing this with _you_."

She laughed at this. "You are right. You are the last person I need to remind about respecting her privacy." She was reaching for her coat. "Take some time, Blake. Don't rush in. I'll be there."

"Yes, ma'am."

***MS***

Nadine had to admit that after Blake's texts, she felt trepidation at seeing the Secretary of State. She was already in her office, sitting behind the desk when Nadine came in. She hesitated in the doorway briefly, overcome with emotion, before stepping into the office.

"Madam Secretary," She paused trying to control the tremor in her voice before continuing. "I am so grateful to have you back with us safe."

"Thank you, Nadine." Her voice was flat and controlled, but her smile seemed normal. She could see no evidence of injury. Her face was flawless as ever, with just a hint of shadows under her bright blue eyes.

"I'm sorry, but the office is a little disorganized this morning. We had been up for a long time when we finally got the news you were coming home. Most everyone is catching up on sleep today."

"That's fine. We've a lot to do. We need to get out ahead of this whole . . ." Her voice waivered here, and Nadine took a step closer to the desk.

"Of course." She said quickly. "Can I get you some coffee, ma'am?"

"That's hardly something that falls under your job description." Elizabeth McCord said with a grin.

"I don't mind. Just cream, right?"

"Yes."

When she returned with the cup of coffee, the Secretary of State was typing on her computer. She set the cup on her desk standing just to her right.

"I sent you a detailed list of everything. It seemed the most efficient way to organize everything. I Cc'd Blake."

"He's on his way in, ma'am." She explained. "He would be in already but I told home to take his time. He never left."

"What do you mean?" She turned to face Nadine who still stood to her right.

"From the time you left until you were found, he was here."

"But that was four days!" Her eyes grew wide and then were suddenly brighter and she ducked her head, turning back to the computer.

Nadine was unsure but felt a need to say _something. _Much as she wanted to maintain a professional distance, it felt important to say the truth.

"He cares very deeply for you." She paused briefly. "We all do, ma'am. We were so relieved to hear you were found safe. And I just wanted to say how very sorry I am about Fred Cole." She fought for control. "He was such a good man."

Elizabeth McCord did not look up, her hands flat against the surface of her desk. "Yes." She said her voice tight. "Thank you, Nadine."

"I'll get to that list, then." She said stepping back and away from the desk. "If there is anything else, I'll be in my office."

She returned to her office and collapsed into her chair, a hand covering her mouth as she stifled a sob. She drew in a deep breath, battling tears before turning on her computer and addressing the work in front of her. Blake was right to have called and sent all those texts. The haunted look in Elizabeth McCord's eyes shook her to her core. She understood the bottle of wine Blake had confessed to drinking, and wondered that it hadn't been closer to an entire case.

***MS***

"Listen, I'm not the kind of person to complain. This isn't a hand-holding, best friends forever kind of town. But she is behaving irrationally. She blew up at the sandwich guy for standing too close when he was asking for orders." Daisy stood beside Nadine's desk.

"Why on earth was the Secretary of the United States of America, talking to Paul?" Nadine asked.

"That's the part of the story that troubles you?" Daisy asked.

"You should be mindful of your tone." Nadine said, staving off anger. "And the last thing this office is going to become is a place for people to whine and gossip! We've got Fred Cole's funeral tomorrow. Use some common sense, Daisy."

Clearly hurt, Daisy stiffened and turned to leave. "Yes, ma'am. I apologize."

"Daisy, wait," Nadine was hit with a sudden wave of guilt over her harsh tone.

"No, don't apologize. You are right. I was out of line and hadn't thought it through." She sighed, her hand on the door. "It's an adjustment, is all." She confessed. "I'm not used to thinking of her as human." She gave a sad grin. "Please accept my apology." And she left, closing the door behind her.

Nadine sighed. She hadn't meant to lose her temper with Daisy but she was actually the third person to voice "concern" over something that the Secretary of State had said or done. She had shut down all of them - her response becoming increasingly harsh with each complaint. It wasn't that Elizabeth McCord had returned to them completely changed. That actually probably would've been easier to navigate. Instead she was sometimes completely normal and then with no warning at all, she would explode or go silent. There was no predicting it. It wasn't something she could discuss with her boss, either. Elizabeth McCord was completely locked down - no discussion of Iran or the obvious impact it had made.

"Ma'am?" She looked up, surprised to see Blake in the doorway. "Do you?"

"I'm sorry, Blake. I wasn't listening."

"I'm going for coffee. Do you want something?" He had been very kind to her since M'Secs return. Those dark hours waiting had brought them together, but their mutual concern for their boss kept them united; determined to protect her.

"No, but I'll tag along. I need to stretch my legs." She smiled and he nodded as she reached for her coat.

"I think the meeting is going to run long." He told her as they made their way downstairs to the open street.

"They usually do." She shrugged her shoulders. "You get any sleep last night?"

Blake didn't answer but instead shrugged his shoulders. They turned the corner, pausing at the coffee cart.

"How are you holding up, Blake?" She asked as he waited for his order to be filled.

"I'm well, ma'am." He answered without hesitation.

"Uh, huh." She said with an eyebrow raised. "Me, too."

He faced her then, having been handed his tray of drinks to take back to the office. "I will be relieved when these funerals are over." He paused, considering. "That sounds terrible. I just mean . . ."

"I understand what you mean, Blake." Nadine told him. "I feel the same way."

***MS***

Fred Cole's funeral was the one she worried about most. She had read the reports - the ones that she'd had clearance for, and understood that he died keeping Elizabeth McCord alive. She tried to put herself in her boss's shoes; how would she feel knowing that someone had died in her place? The truth was that it was unimaginable. Fred had been one of her favorite agents - he always had a small grin on his face, and seemed to enjoy Secretary McCord's sense of humor. He was gentle, and soft spoken, but no push over.

She spent most of the funeral, however, keeping an eye on the Secretary of State. Dr. McCord was there, of course, and Nadine was both comforted and pained to see the way he watched her; his eyes never leaving his wife. Secretary McCord's face was marked with pain and grief but she shed no tears - at least that Nadine saw. She remembered Blake's words to her: _You ever see her cry?_ She did notice that she clung tightly to her husband's hand, however, not once letting go.

Like Blake, she had hoped that after the funeral things would even out - not go back to the way they were, but just somehow settle into a new and comfortable peace. She saw flickers of this from time to time, but then suddenly, and without any warning, Secretary McCord would flare up in unreasonable anger, or go suddenly silent. Nadine spent a lot of time soothing ruffled feathers. One of the worst being when Daisy, took a step in the complete wrong direction referring to her boss as a "hero." She tried to stop it, but Secretary McCord was furious. She couldn't really blame her. Daisy had a bad habit of considering the impact of her words _after_ they'd been spoken. It had been getting her into trouble from day one, but still, what she said wasn't untrue. Elizabeth McCord had gone to Iran and single-handedly stopped a coup; saving the upcoming peace talks. It was the act of a hero.

***MS***

"A heart attack?" Nadine tried to keep herself calm. She hung up the phone and immediately went into the outer office. "Frank, we have a situation." She said not even wasting time to find the agent, opting instead for the walkie-talkie. "Code 44. Secretary McCord is in her office, paramedics are enroute."

"Ma'am, evacuate the floor immediately." Frank responded without hesitation.

There was too much to do to really think about what was happening. They had drills and had practiced preparing for a medical emergency. She followed every procedure step-by-step. She directed everyone off the floor and held the door open when the paramedics came in. Blake had told her that Secretary McCord was conscious, and much as she wanted to go in and see for herself, she had obligations. She had immediately sent a car to the McCord residence - hoping to get there before Henry McCord took to the streets.

What she really wanted to do was drive to the hospital and camp out on the waiting room. Instead she tried to keep herself and her staff calm.

"Everyone!" She forced her voice to remain calm. They had come back to their desks but stood together in clusters, rehashing the events over and over. "We all have work to do."

She heard the muttering; the under current - _Heartless bitch. _Shaking her head she returned to her office. Sometimes it was easier to let people believe the lie. It gave everyone something else to think about - something to distract them from the terrifying sight of Elizabeth McCord pale and gasping for air.

She stared at her computer screen, trying to will the phone to ring. She spent a good forty minutes talking with Russell Jackson and the Chinese embassy - trying to smooth things over. She was complete exhausted by the time her phone finally rang.

"Nadine Tolliver." She said hoping that it was news from the hospital.

"Nadine, it's Henry McCord."

"Dr. McCord! How is she?" She couldn't keep the panic out of her voice.

"Elizabeth is fine." Were the words that he said but something in his voice made her think that wasn't the whole story.

"I'm so relieved. What can we do?"

"Well, I, you aren't going to believe this but," he hesitated. "She's, um, coming back to the office."

"Pardon me?"

"It wasn't a heart attack. She's fine and wants to return. There's a meeting she's concerned about?"

"That doesn't matter. We can reschedule."

"Well," He chuckled wryly. "It isn't up to me."

"No, sir." She agreed. "Is there anything I can do?"

"I'd ask you to keep an eye on her but nothing pisses off Elizabeth more than being handled." He sighed.

"Oh, well, Dr. McCord, having people angry with me, is my natural state." She smiled even as she said it, accepting the truth of her own words. "I'm just so pleased that she is alright. She was so pale."

"Yeah, well," She was surprised at the uncertainty in Dr. McCord's voice. "She should be back in about thirty minutes and, I uh, will be home. I cancelled my classes, so you can reach me there."

"Yes, sir." She was pained by the obvious sadness in his tone. He was clearly worried. "I know things have been very difficult, sir. But I promise you, if I have to choose between her angry at me and her health - well, I'm certain that I've ticked her off before."

"Thank you, Nadine." He said softly.

***MS***

In the end, though, she missed her return completely. She had walked into the office and turned around almost immediately. The fire drill had seemed so over the top on an already stressful day but then she'd seen, Blake moving toward the stairwell with Secretary McCord, tucked under his arm. Her face was down, but Nadine was fairly certain that she saw tears, which stunned her. It was difficult to accept that Elizabeth McCord was actually human.

She waited and waited for Blake to return to the office - which he never did. She was stunned by this. Blake was a consummate employee. He didn't check in or send an email. He disappeared. She was knee deep in clean up work and so it was late when she finally broke down and sent him a text.

-Are you alright?-

She was concerned about him as well as the Secretary of State. He'd been receiving the bulk of Secretary McCord's angry outbursts.

-No-

His brief response terrified her.

-What can I do?-

-Reverse time and help me prevent her from going to Iran!-

Nadine sighed heavily.

Iran.

It was a word that to her signaled the death of Vincent Marsh; the death of her happiness. And it seemed that the body count rose daily. Vincent. Two Diplomatic Service Agents. The pilot. Fred Cole, Zahed Javani. Agent Walters and Agent Coffman. Agents Brenneman and Davenport and their driver, Andrew Benoit. And she would have to add now to that horrible list - the joyful, hopeful spirit of United States Secretary of State, Elizabeth McCord.

-Do you want to meet for a drink?- She asked him.

-I am halfway through a bottle already, ma'am. Go home. Sleep. Do ordinary things. You will need your strength to face the disintegration of the only kind heart in Washington, again tomorrow-

-Blake-

She couldn't think of anything else to say to him; equally moved and grieved by his words.

-Get some sleep, okay.-

-Yes, ma'am-

***MS***

When next she saw Elizabeth McCord, Nadine recognized something had changed. The most obvious change being that she'd lost the dark circles under her eyes. Initially, she'd returned to shoot Face the Nation. Henry McCord had been at her side - intensely protective. He'd pulled her and Daisy aside.

"We are keeping the room small." He said without preamble.

"Sir?"

"No one else in the room. Just Elizabeth, me and Schieffer's people."

Nadine considered this news. "But Dr. McCord, if I was in the room I could better prepare for . . ."

"No." His tone was firm. "I don't care what makes your job easy or harder. I don't care what impact it makes on the State Department. This isn't up for negotiation. This is how it is. I'm not sacrificing her to the political gods."

"Sir, you can't expect me to walk into that press room blind? That's unreasonable." Daisy said.

"My wife isn't your exclusive property, Daisy. And she's not some character in a drama." His voice was even but firm. "She is a human being and she has limits. It will be Mr. Schieffer, the camera man, the producer, Elizabeth and me. That's it."

"Dr. McCord, I understand your need to protect her," Nadine tried, gently. "but what is Secretary McCord's stance on the issue?" Nadine recognized that Dr. McCord's need to protect her, might be at odds with Secretary McCord's independent spirit.

Henry made no reply, crossing his arms over his chest. Nadine looked over at Blake. "Blake?"

"I'll defer to Dr. McCord." Blake said with a grin. "He seems to have a handle on his wife's wishes."

"We won't know anything." Daisy continued. "I can't . . .this isn't an acceptable situation."

"We can cancel it." Henry offered with a shrug. "If that would be more acceptable?"

"All due respect, ," Daisy began.

"All due respect, Ms. Grant, that is my wife, and I'm telling you what is going to happen. This isn't a discussion. You aren't going to appeal to my sense of loyalty to this administration. My loyalty is to her and her alone. She's the only administration I care about and this is personal and painful, and private."

"It is." Nadine said quietly even as Daisy opened her mouth to protest. "Forgive us, sir. We honestly were focused on protecting her image. It wasn't any kind of opportunism . . ."

"No. I didn't think that." He said. She smiled at him, accepting that whatever went on in that interview, she would see it on tv - just like the rest of the nation.

"Sir, if there is nothing else?" She asked politely,

"No. Thank you, Nadine." His smile was warm and she relaxed knowing that he understood that she hadn't wanted to be in the room simply to gawk. She turned to Daisy hoping she wouldn't have to physically drag her away.

Daisy opened her mouth to speak but Blake who was standing opposite her shook his head, and with a nod Daisy turned and followed her down the hall. She went straight to her office and shut the door behind them both.

"Don't start." Nadine told her. "I understand you are very good at your job, but you cannot check your humanity with your coat."

"What?" Daisy shook her head, lifting a hand at Nadine. "What does that even mean?"

"It means she's a human being, Daisy! And he's right! It's up to _them _who is allowed to bare witness to her story."

"It's going to be on national TV at nine tonight!"

"No." Nadine shook her head. "An edited, crafted version will be on tv. What happens in there is her business, not the nations' and not ours. We work for her - not the other way around."

"I serve at the pleasure of the President, Nadine. I need to consider the whole story - not just one part."

Nadine sat back in her chair her eyes on Daisy. "You are so damn young." Nadine said softly. "You had to have read those reports. Did you?"

"I did. I know what happened."

Nadine shook her head and reaching into a drawer, pulled out a folder. She opened it turning pages until she found what she was searching for. She cleared her throat and using her finger to follow the words said, "'When we entered the living room, a fire had already broken out. We found Secretary McCord face down on the floor. . .'"

"Nadine," Daisy interrupted. "I . . ."

"No. Wait. This is my favorite part. This is the sentence that keeps me awake at night. 'Initially, it appeared she was dead. She lay underneath the body of Agent Fred Cole. The blood we saw on her neck and shoulder was his, not hers. We removed the body and she eventually was able to stand. She was unable to speak for the next hour.'"

"I understand what you are saying." Daisy said softly.

"Do you? I don't know sometimes, Daisy!" She leaned forward. "She flew there knowing how desperate it was. Went to that house with seven agents and when she left all but two of them were dead. She was hurt and cut off from her family for nearly for nearly 13 hours! So maybe, just maybe, you could stop trying to turn this into a Movie of the Week and really process what's gone on, here."

"I'm just trying to do my job." Daisy responded defensively.

"No. You are trying to find that one story that will push you into the big time." She sighed. "I understand it, Daisy, I do. You want to have a career that is memorable, but you can't get so caught up in the story that you forget she's a mother - that she's a wife. And she very nearly was killed thousands of miles away from her husband and children."

"Nadine, you make it sound like I'm heartless. That wasn't my intent. I just need to hear the story -to hear _her_ tell the story so I can know how to help her."

"She's more than the story."

"Yes." Daisy finally relented. "Yes. You are right."

***MS***

Her performance on Face the Nation was stunning. Nadine had no words for it. She was calm, poised, eloquent and beautiful. Daisy was probably jumping up and down screaming in joyful celebration. She found herself reaching for her coat without even processing it, and when she's crossed town and found herself waiting for the door to swing open that she realized she was behaving ridiculously.

"Nadine." Blake said a brief flash of surprise settling over his features. "Come in. Red or white." He turned leading her into his neat-as-a/pin condo.

"White." She said removing her coat and settling on the sofa.

He disappeared into the kitchen but quickly returned, handing her a glass of wine before settling into a chair.

She sipped the wine wondering at it all. She had taken the Metro at ten o'clock at night to find herself at the home of a twenty-seven year old kid. Things had slid wildly out of control.

"You think she'll be in tomorrow?" Nadine asked.

"Yup." Blake said taking a sip of wine. "Saw her this afternoon. She'll be at work first thing."

Nadine raised an eyebrow and shook her head. There was nothing to say. She turned from Blake her eyes settling on the fire. Blake made no comment either. Perhaps that is why she sought him out. Blake understood. Something in the fireplace distracted her.

"You burning old clothes?" She asked.

"Just a bloodstained shirt." He said with a sigh. It took Nadine a long minute to process this. The image of the dirty, tear-stained face of Elizabeth McCord seemed to haunt her - her blood-stained shirt tattered, and so unlike the Secretary of State who was never disheveled.

_Tell him to bring her some clothes. _She timbered Frank saying to her. _He can't see her like this._

"But how . . ."

"I brought her clothes, remember. I was so worried, I stuffed the shirt in my pocket and forgot about it - until I saw it tonight. So I burned it."

"It was Armani." Nadine said without thinking. Blake's eyes grew wide at this. "Sorry, I don't know what I was . . . Jesus! That stupid interview has me rattled. How the hell is she going to recover from this?"

"She kept her head down the whole drive home from the airport. She wouldn't look out the windows and her hands were shaking so badly that she couldn't open a water bottle. I had to. And," He rose refilling both his wine glass and hers. "That blouse," He took a swallow of wine. "That Armani blouse was covered in blood - Fred's and hers."

"There were bodies hanging in the streets." Nadine told him.

"What?"

"In Tehran. Frank's report said they drove through an area that had bodies hanging on every corner." Nadine rubbed the back of her neck with her hand.

"Well," Blake considered this. "I think this calls for hard liquor." He paused looking back at Nadine. "Bourbon? Tequila? Whiskey?"

"Whiskey."

"She seemed a little," Blake paused thoughtfully, whiskey bottle in hand. "Not better really but, less bad, I guess."

"Maybe. She looks like she is sleeping again."

Blake handed her a glass of whiskey, sitting on the arm of the couch. "We are going to have to run interference with Daisy." He told her.

"She must be elated."

Blake crossed the room and lifted his phone. "Thirty-four texts. All of them end with an exclamation point." He sighed, return to perch on the arm of the couch.

"Well, that interview was . . ." She looked up at Blake. "She is the most impressive person I've ever met."

"Yes." He agreed.

"She was phenomenal. You know what is going to happen, don't you?"

"She's not political. She doesn't want to be president." Blake told her

"I would vote for her." Nadine said. "Wouldn't you?"

"Oh, hell yeah." Blake said. "But I don't want her to run, do you?"

"She's given enough." Nadine shook her head.

"Still. . . "

"She sat there, looking like she does, talking about nearly getting killed thousands of miles from her family, and can turn it around to a negotiation for peace. Who wouldn't vote for her?"

"Stupid people." Blake offered. He drained his glass. "Anyone watching that would be impressed."

"Yes." Nadine agreed.

"They can't see that it broke her heart." He offered with a sorrowful sigh. Nadine reached out and squeezed his hand.

"Go to bed, Blake." She told him. "You are drunk."

"So are you." He told her returning for the whiskey bottle. "But neither one of us are drunk enough to forget what we've seen."

Her only response was to hold out her glass, as he poured more whiskey.

She ended up asleep in his guest bedroom. He'd passed out on the couch. It was probably the most ridiculous situation she'd ever been in. Watching the interview had so disturbed her that she sought comfort from the one person who understood how difficult it was to care deeply about someone who had been shattered by violence. She woke early, her head throbbing and stepped out into the early morning cold. She wrapped her coat around herself and turned toward the nearby steps of the Metro, hoping against all hope that Elizabeth McCord would be able to find her way back to peace.


	13. Chapter 13

NADINE TOLIVER sat back in her office chair, surprised to discover it was already after six o'clock. She twisted her sore neck and tried to relax her shoulders.

"Have you considered yoga?" Blake asked, leaning his tall frame against her doorway.

"I don't understand how someone as tall as you can sneak up on people."

"I'm lithe." He answered. "It's late."

"M'Sec go home?"

"About a half hour ago. I stood in front of her holding her coat for fifteen minutes. She finally caved." He said easing himself into a chair.

"It's been a long week." Nadine said with a sigh.

"It's Tuesday, ma'am."

"Oh, God." She rubbed her face. Looking up at Blake she paused considering him thoughtfully. "You take yoga? Do you wear a suit?"

He smiled shyly. "I lean more toward a tuxedo for yoga class. I take my physical well-being very seriously."

Nadine laughed at this. "Well, that's obvious. One look at your hair and anyone can tell you are a man focused on his physical well-being."

"It's late and so I'm going to overlook your snarkiness." He told her.

"Why thank you, Blake." She smiled.

"Good night, Ms. Toliver." He said with a wink.

"Good night, Mr. Moran." She watched him leave before gathering up her things. She was not surprised to find him at the elevator, waiting.

"Are you stalking me, Blake?"

"Oh, no, ma'am. I had to double-back, I forgot something." He fiddled nervously with the button on his wool coat. "But since we are going down together, I could walk you to your car."

Nadine smiled. "I took the metro."

"I can walk you to the station. It's dark out."

The elevator doors opened, and smiling Nadine stepped inside. Blame followed her in.

"Shouldn't you be off running around town with a pack of young friends?" She teased him.

"It's 6:30 ma'am. Do you picture me running around with a pack of wild senior citizens? My crew doesn't start rolling until ten."

She doubled over laughing at his use of the word crew. She shook her head at him. "You know Blake, you know you keep talking like that and your street cred is going to double."

"It's my greatest wish, ma'am."

They walked through the icy cold city street until they reached the station. She hesitated at the stairs. Blake stood in front of her, his hands in his pockets. "Well, goodnight ma'am."

"Good night, Blake." She smiled up at him. "Thank you for walking me to the station."

"I'll see you tomorrow." He nodded at her and continued through the dark streets of DC. Turning, Nadine headed down the steps into the Metro station, and despite the cold, she felt warm. In the days after Vincent's death she had felt completely alone; an island. But slowly, bit by bit, she could see herself making connections again. Like a Phoenix rising is how she thought of herself lately. And it was strange to think that a twenty-seven year old assistant was a part of that. _Life takes the strangest turns._ She thought to herself.

***MS***

"I'm so sorry, Dr. McCord." Nadine said stepping into the office of the Secretary of State. Henry McCord sat in a chair in front of his wife's desk, a book in hand. His shoulders sagged and he sighed.

"It's my own fault. I should've texted Elizabeth before coming all the way down here." He said, removing his glasses and set his book on her desk. "So, I guess lunch is off the table."

"I'm afraid so." Nadine told him. "The meeting is running long."

He smiled kindly. "And started late too, I'll bet."

"Yes, sir."

"Okay." He rose. "Times like now I'm glad I tricked her into marrying me. She'll have to go home eventually, and I live there." He winked at Nadine.

"Can I get you anything?" Nadine asked. "Other than the obvious, of course."

"No. There is however, something I've needed to do. It got swallowed up by . . .well, everything." He stood facing Nadine.

"What is that?" She asked confused.

"I never should have spoken to you as I did when you called to tell me about Elizabeth. I was rude and treated you with disrespect. I apologize."

"Sir? But you did apologize and under the circumstances I thought your anger was completely justified. There's no need for any apology. I'm just so happy she came home safe and that things seem so much better for her."

Henry McCord said nothing for a long minute. "Yes. Good." He paused for a moment. "And her doing better has everything to do with the kindness and compassion you've shown her. I appreciate the things you do behind the scenes. Elizabeth does, too."

"It's a privilege, sir."

He grinned widely at this and Nadine blushed self-consciously.

"I feel the same way. Elizabeth is . . ." But he was at a loss for words.

Nadine decided that this was the opportunity to ask something that had filled her with curiosity. "Can I ask you something, Dr. McCord?"

"Sure."

"Everyone from Secretary McCord's life away from the State Department calls her 'Bess', but you never do."

He laughed at this. "My grandmother was named Bess. I always called her 'Gamma Bess'. My brain couldn't manage calling Elizabeth the same name. I mean, my thoughts toward her, would be wholly inappropriate for my Gamma." He blushed as he said this and Nadine laughed.

"I can imagine that might cause some internal confusion." She agreed.

"Tell Elizabeth, I'll see her tonight, and thank you for everything, Nadine." He nodded his head at her and gathering up his coat, glasses and book, he left.

***MS***

"Tell me that's the last one." Elizabeth McCord said leaning back in her chair and rubbing her forehead.

"Well. . ." Nadine hesitated.

"Oh, God!" She rose up from behind her desk. Pacing for a few seconds and then drawing in a deep breath said, "Okay. Alright. Who's next?"

"Actually, what I was going to say is that is the last phone call for _today_." Nadine told her laughing.

"Nadine!" Secretary McCord shook a finger at her chief of staff. "That wasn't very nice. You've been spending entirely too much time with Blake!"

"I didn't say anything, ma'am. You didn't give me the chance."

"I suppose not." She rose, stretching her neck. "Who knew thanking people for the support would be so exhausting."

"Actually, I did." Nadine said with a laugh. "Shall I tell Blake to have them bring up the car?"

"Oh, yes, thank you. I'm already in hot water for skipping lunch today. Dr. McCord would be irritated if I missed dinner too."

"Ma'am," Nadine paused in her gathering of papers off the Secretary of State's desk. "It's 7:30."

"Oh, damn!" She flopped back into her chair. "Maybe I should just hide out here. Pretend we got into something with Canada again."

Nadine laughed. "I'm the one who told him you weren't going to make lunch. He didn't seem upset. He was very kind about it."

"Of course!" Elizabeth said, rising and grabbing her coat. "He's very polite to everyone. I suppose that's what makes it worse. It's like skipping a date with the Pope. Of course he won't be angry with you, but you feel terrible all the same."

Nadine laughed at this. "I would probably convert if the Pope looked anything like your husband." She realized what she had said too late, and her face turned a bright crimson. "I'm so sorry, ma'am. I didn't mean . . . I just was saying that . . ."

Elizabeth McCord laughed out loud. "Oh, God! No matter where we go! It is always the same thing! Henry and his band of followers." She put a hand on Nadine's arm. "Don't worry about it. I feel the same way." She winked at her chief-of-staff. "And I promise to pretend like this conversation never, ever happened."

"Oh, thank God." Nadine gasped out.

***MS***

Two weeks after the _Face the Nation_ appearance, Nadine found herself standing once again on Blake's front step. His face registered surprise, but he immediately stepped back, and she followed him inside.

"Not a bad time, I hope?" She glanced around the condo.

"No. Just me, some left-over paperwork and bowl of popcorn." He told her.

"Ah, well, I brought you some wine." She revealed a bottle from behind her back, handing it to him. He studied the bottle's label.

"My, my! You are welcome to come over and deplete my wine supply any day if this is how you replace it.!"

"I thought you'd like that." She sat down on the couch. "I won't take up too much of your time, though."

He set the wine on the table and sat in a chair across from her. "What can I help you with?" He asked.

"Nothing." She smiled at him. "I just wanted to give you that bottle and seemed too complicated to pass it over to you in the office, and I wanted to say thank you for the other day."

"Oh, well." Blake sputtered. "I could say the same to you."

"Yes, well," She glanced down at her hands. "It was a pretty awful few days, and I don't think I would've managed it nearly so well without your support." She looked up smiling at him shyly.

"I passed out in the middle of the conference room, Nadine, and then tried to convince you to put me on a jet to get to Germany. I'm pretty sure the support was pretty much this direction."

"You are overly competitive." She told him laughing.

"I am not." He grinned at her. They studied one another in silence for a few minutes. And then he rose suddenly, returning to the wine bottle. "Come on, don't rush off. You can have a glass of this with me. It would be sad for me to drink it all alone."

"Oh, no. I'm sure you've got plans later with friends." She rose, straightening her skirt with the flat of her hand.

"Nadine, I work fourteen, sometimes sixteen hours a day. What friends?" He held the bottle out. "One glass. I'll even spring for a cab for you. I know a petite woman like you can't hold her liquor." He winked at her.

He poured two glasses, handing her one. "We should toast something." He said thoughtfully.

"To better days." She said lifting her glass with a smile.

"Yes, indeed!" He agreed cheerfully. "To better days for all of us."

***MS***

_Author's Note:_

_Life has been fairly hectic lately - we all know what that is like. It is sad to think it will be months before we get a new episode. Thank you for all the kind comments and reviews. I really do appreciate it. I hope you enjoyed this latest chapter!_

_Decadebaby_


	14. Chapter 14

HENRY MCCORD was too exhausted to sleep. He had hoped that after everything they could curl into each other's arms and finally, truly sleep. But Elizabeth had disappeared from their bed and he'd found her asleep beside Jason. The sight of her snuggled with their youngest, her face peaceful made his heart ache with both the anguish and the sweetness of it.

_What have I done to our sweet children?_

He left them but instead of returning to their bed, he wandered down the hall and checked in on Ali. She looked so much younger asleep. It was hard to comprehend. 13.16. 20 - Stevie was nearly 21. Where did all the time go? And how in the hell did they end up here?

_What have I done to our sweet children?_

He'd been too broken to respond; shattered by the raw, aching pain of it. It was one thing to discuss the effects of violence and war at philosophical level, but it was another to see the devastation in her eyes and hear the raw, shattered ache in her voice. He had wanted to tell her the powerful and loving ways she had shaped and strengthened them. He had wanted to tell her how good she was - down to her very core; desperate and broken because she could not protect a boy she had met just hours before. But all he could do was hold her tight as she shook with tears - as he wept for her.

He looked down, surprised to find a glass in his hand. He hadn't remembered pouring the whiskey, and it scared him. He set the glass down on the counter, walking away from it. He wandered out and found himself in their shared office. He sat behind her desk.

A row of pictures lined the edge of her desk - the kids at various ages - their bright faces shining up. The picture closest to her computer was of him. He was 22, maybe 23. He was wearing a pair of shorts that seemed wholly inappropriate now and no shirt. He had one hand lifted to shade his eyes from the sun. The smile on his face was huge; blindingly bright. Of course it was huge - he was looking at her.

He sat back in the chair his head tilted up toward the ceiling. Maybe it would've been better if he'd never seen her; never worked up the courage to speak to her; never asked her out or leaned in close to kiss her. Closing his eyes he could see it all play out - her smile, their wedding, Stevie, Alison and Jason. Birthdays, anniversaries, her laughter, their first house, vacations with the kids - all of it snowballing relentlessly forward until it ended with her on the floor of a house in Iran - buried under rubble and a dead man on top of her as a little boy screamed for his father; her heart irrevocably shattered. He rubbed a hand over his face and rose facing the bookshelf. All those books and not one could explain why she had to be in that room a world away from him.

He felt a rage build up inside him. He wondered vaguely if _he_ wasn't developing PTSD - reacting to the shattering effects of her devastation.

They'd been so naive and foolish - actually joking about it.

_But just in case I don't make it back._

He felt sick thinking of the way they'd tempted fate. It was easier to pretend and play along than face the truth - that she was walking straight into a death trap. He'd known it, too. The second she said she had to go there - he had known she would die.

And for all his pretending, deep in his heart he _had_ believed it would be their last night together. He hadn't slept at all, watching her when she drifted off. He loved looking at her; never got tired of it. She was hauntingly beautiful - every inch of her. After a quarter of a century together, he had memorized every curve. She fit so perfectly in his arms, her head resting against his heart.

In those hours of waiting, he had kept himself steady - strong for the girls. He had been determined to protect them, steeling himself for what he believed was to come for them - trying to imagine navigating the world without her; his compass.

"We've got her." Russell's jubilant and surprisingly emotional voice had completely shocked him. "Bess is okay. Call me when you are ready for information. She's alive, Henry."

And he'd wept, tears that shook his entire body so relieved - so grateful for this miracle; his own sweet Elizabeth back from the dead. He couldn't express his unbelievable gratitude.

It was four hours later his phone rang again. After the girls had crawled into bed - after he'd wept all over again - after the horrible stark explanations from Russell - gunfire, bruises, stitches, her detail lost and Javani dead.

"Dr. McCord? This is Frank Engel."

"Frank! What is . . . did something happen?" He was suddenly terrified that all his joyous thanksgiving would be replaced with anguish.

"No, sir. She's right here. She couldn't dial the phone and so . . ."

"She's hurt?" He felt his heart rate increase.

"Not badly. She's . . . Uh . . . Here, sir. You talk to her. I'm going to step out." He heard noises, footsteps maybe. And then, Frank's voice but far away. "Ma'am? It's Dr. . . . It's your husband. Elizabeth? It's Henry. Ma'am, it's okay. Henry is on the phone. Here take the phone."

And then he had heard her - sobbing. He understood then why Frank had been on the line.

"Babe?" He tried to keep his own voice steady. "Sweetheart? Are you okay?"

"Fred is dead." He'd never heard that sound in her voice; so unbelievably hollow and sad.

"It's okay, baby. It's okay. Lizzie, are you alright?"

"They . . . I'm . . . Henry?"

He had thought hearing her voice would make him feel better, but it only seemed to increase his panic. What had happened? What had she seen? What had they done to her? He just wanted her home, safe and in his arms, tucked against his chest.

And then she'd walked in the door - actually just walked in as if it had been just another trip. It wasn't what he'd expected. He'd been so thankful to have her in his arms again. And yet he couldn't seem to hold onto her; she kept slipping away from him.

After he'd finally chased the kids away, he'd stood in the kitchen three feet from her.

"Are you hungry?" He didn't know why he felt so nervous.

"No." She didn't meet his eyes, her chin down.

"Baby, do you want . . ." But she'd stepped away.

"I want a bath." Her voice was soft.

"Okay."

He couldn't believe he wasn't holding her. He didn't know what he should do and it felt so uncomfortable. He was always comfortable with her; sure of himself - sure of them.

He'd hovered outside the bathroom door, wanting to go in and sit by the tub and talk to her - as if it were a normal evening. But he'd been afraid; didn't want to disturb her. Instead, he'd checked on the kids and when he'd returned she was still in the bath but he thought he heard a soft whimper; a cry.

It was that broken plaintive sound that finally unfroze him and he pushed the door open.

"Elizabeth?" She wasn't in the tub. She was wearing a pair of his boxers and an old t-shirt of his - from boot camp. She sat on the edge of the tub, staring at the ground.

"Babe?" He moved closer kneeling in front of her. Her face was unrecognizable with fear and terror

"It isn't mine." Her voice was so faint he'd nearly missed it.

"What . . ." But before he'd finished his sentence, she pointed at her own leg. Her beautiful shin marked with red; blood.

He couldn't catch his breath and for a moment he thought he might pass out.

"I can't . . . I can't. . ." She lifted a shaking hand to her mouth. "Henry? Fred is dead."

He ran his hand along the soft line of her cheek, whispering "Shhh," even as she flinched at his touch. "I'm sorry, sweetheart. I'm sorry."

He leaned forward and picked up a washcloth, dipping it in the warm tub water. He lifted her pretty ankle and with gentle fingers washed away the blood. And she'd crawled forward into his arms weeping.

"I'm so sorry." She said over and over. He'd carried her to bed, and kept his arms tight around her all night, but nothing, nothing stopped her tears.


	15. Chapter 15

HENRY MCCORD awoke hours later, slumped in her office chair, a crick in his neck. He moved to stretch but looked up to discover she was standing in the doorway of the office.

"You weren't in bed." She said softly, her hands stuffed in the pockets of her robe.

"Neither were you." He said with a smile. "And I couldn't sleep."

"I slept." She confessed.

"I saw." He considered her thoughtfully, she always looked ridiculously small in that robe - it swallowed her up and more so now than ever - she clearly hadn't been eating much. "Are you hungry?"

She shook her head, but he pushed a bit harder, "Ice cream?" and he was rewarded with a shy smile.

"Maybe just a little."

Laughing he rose and taking her by the hand he led her into the kitchen. She sat at the table, and he dug around in the freezer until he found the carton of ice cream that she kept hidden in the back of the freezer. He handed it to her and a spoon and sat opposite her after lifting the lid off the cartoon.

"You going to try and go in today?" He asked her, leaning back and watching as she took a spoonful of ice cream.

"I should." She said, her face down. She swallowed down one spoonful of ice cream, and then set her spoon down. "I don't want to." She confessed, her blue eyes resting on him. "I'm embarrassed and . . ."

"Jesus, you think maybe just once in your life you could give yourself a pass? No one saw you leaving. Blake made sure of that, and if anyone had all they would have thought was that you had come back to work too quickly."

"Mike B is going to . . ."

"Mike B is really good at his job, but baby, you know that at his core, as a human, he's got some gaping holes. He isn't known for compassion or grace."

She smiled at this. "No, but being on the receiving end isn't very pleasant."

He handed her spoon back to her, and she took another small bite of ice cream. "And Russell knows that I'm not managing things well. I can only imagine what . . ."

"Russell isn't going to talk to _anyone_ about _anything_." Henry said firmly. "He understands."

She put the spoon back down, and ran a hand through her hair. "God, you know things are bad when I've got something in common with Russell Jackson." She shook her head, and then faced him. "And I'm still . . ."

He set his spoon down, and reached across the table for her hand. She hesitated, biting the inside of her lip, but a tear escaped anyway.

"I'm still a wreck." She whispered tightly. "It feels better that I told you, but . . ."

"I know." He said gently. "Look, we'll call that number Russell gave you, okay? Babe, I don't expect everything to just fall into place. I don't care about work or countries, or your staff - just you. I only care about you."

"I have to do Face the Nation." She said looking down. "You know I do."

"No, you don't."

She looked up at him in surprise.

"You only have to do the things _you_ have to do. Liz, no one is clearer on this than you. You always have a choice, babe. Always."

"Dalton needs . . ."

He rose up out of his chair, and covered his anger by putting the ice cream back in the freezer.

"Conrad Dalton can take care of his own crap, Liz. It isn't your responsibility to save his career - any more than it is your responsibility to save the world from nuclear destruction."

He was surprised when she laughed at this. "Okay, take it easy there, Captain McCord. You've got your protective sensibilities all in a twist."

"Damn right, I do." He said, leaning against the counter and crossing his arms over his chest. "You know I could take him in a fight." She laughed at this.

"He's surprisingly scrappy."

"Better not dare me, babe. I'm pretty ticked at him already. You add fuel to the fire and its on."

"Henry, it was _my_ decision. He didn't . . ."

"It seems like lately all your decisions are based on the needs of everyone else. Conrad understands your sense of loyalty and responsibility." He offered. She considered this a moment.

"I suppose it's true but it doesn't change the facts, Henry. Javani trusted me, and if I hadn't gone - that coup would've been forever connected to the United States." She rose and stood before him.

"Elizabeth, the facts are that you risked your life - _you_ did - not Conrad Dalton." He rubbed his chin thoughtfully. "And now you are going to go on Face the Nation and he'll be the one who benefits - even if talking about it brings you grief."

"It's not Face the Nation that has me so stressed." She confessed. "We can't just put it out on tv and not . . .I have to talk to the kids." She swallowed. "I've been so distant and angry. And Jason is furious with me."

"No, they understand. I've talked to them, already babe. And you shouldn't be surprised by this, your children are pretty damn smart. They figured some stuff out on their own. Must be your spy DNA." He told her.

"They know?" Her eyes grew bright with tears. "God, this is fairly humiliating."

"They know some violent stuff happened and that Fred Cole died. They understood what that meant, sweetheart. He's been standing next to you since you took office." He sighed. "And as to the rest, they only thing they know is that they love you, and are grateful you are here with us." She said nothing, her face down. He held out his hand to her. "C'mon, babe. More sleep."

"I don't think I can . . ."

"Well, let's give it a go." He said holding onto her fingers, and pulling her up from the chair. He intended to lead her upstairs, but instead she rose and folded herself into his arms, hugging herself close to him.

"I'm sorry, Henry. I shut you out and was so . . ."

"Listen, babe, you don't have to apologize for anything, okay? I don't care about that. I mean," He corrected himself. "I do care because you have been so . . .I can't manage you hurting so badly." His throat constricted and he found words difficult. "I wish . . . I wish I'd pulled you back inside - that morning when you were leaving. God, you were so scared and I just . . .I should've stopped you. You didn't want to go, and I didn't want you to go."

"Henry, don't . . . It doesn't do any good to . . ."

"But I'm sorry. I didn't even . . ." He drew in a deep shuddering breath. "I should've said I loved you one more time."

"I know you love me." She said softly. "Lately, it's the _only _thing I know!" She relaxed against him. "And to show it I've screamed at you, been unreasonable and acted like an all-around bitch."

"I already . . ." He stepped away from her so he could face her. "We aren't going to do this, okay? I take you as you are. If you need to rage then fine, rage at me! I meant every vow, Elizabeth. All your life until the end - I'll be right here."

She nodded her head in response, incapable of anything else and he lifted his hand to rub along the side of her face. And then gently pulling her along by the hand he led her away and toward the stairs. "C'mon, babe. If you are going to drag yourself to the office tomorrow, you have to sleep."

And then it was exactly how he'd imagined it; his arms around her as she slept. He lay awake listening to her steady breathing, crying silent tears as his heart whispered every single scripture he knew expressing thankfulness.

***MS***

Once he'd battled Daisy and Nadine into submission regarding the interview, he felt his nerves settle. Elizabeth had regained some of her equilibrium. As the doctor had pointed out, lack of sleep was fuel to the PTSD fire, so the fact that she had finally slept more than an hour really did make a difference.

And he had her bottle of meds in his pocket. If things got tough, she had recourse now. He wasn't sure if their existence comforted her, but the pills comforted him.

Bob Schieffer was kind, too. He chatted with them and then walked over to Henry while the hair and makeup people fussed over her.

"Dr. McCord, I just want you to know I've got the utmost respect for your wife. I understand that the coup was a difficult day for her, and for you. She looked over the questions we sent?"

"Yes. We talked about them." He answered.

"I'm not throwing in any last minute surprise questions either. And if she needs a break or needs to stop, you just let us know."

Henry tried to hide his look of surprise at the journalist's compassion. "Thank you."

The older man laughed. "I know it's a surprise, isn't it? I'm old school, Dr. McCord. These younger reporters - they just see the office. They forget that our leaders are humans first."

"I appreciate your. . ." He struggled to think of the right word. "Humanity." He said with a chuckle. "Elizabeth and I decided long ago that if we were going to pursue this life of "service, we had to be all in. We couldn't go through the motions - the things we chose to do had to matter."

"Yes." He nodded his head. "But the price is high. Sometimes too high." He reached out and patted Henry's arm. "You know, she reminds me a little of a president I once interviewed."

Henry raised his eyebrows questioningly, but Mr. Schaefer didn't clarify. He smiled and with a wink hinted saying, "He promoted service to your country, too."

***MS***

The interview itself went smoothly. She was poised and eloquent. Her voice never wavered even as she spoke of that horrible moment and even as she spoke of Abdul. Her face was beautifully open and soft. Henry watched her completely blown away by her power and strength. _She looks presidential._ He thought. And it terrified him because he knew that everyone else could see it too.

Even after, as they said goodbye to Mr. Schieffer and the camera crew, she gave no indication of doubt or weakness. They left the office hand and hand, and then climbed into the SUV. She said nothing but sat turned away from him looking out the window.

"Sweetheart?" He asked, moving closer. "You okay?"

She said nothing but reached a hand out and he clung tightly to her fingers. He realized then she was crying silent tears, but he said nothing. What could he possibly say? He simply held her hand running his thumb back and forth over the surface of her hand. After a few minutes, she reached up, wiping her face and drawing in a long, slow breath. "I'm okay. I just . . . Can we talk about something else today? I'm sick of . . .can we just do" She turned to face him. "Something ordinary."

He smiled at her. "Scrabble?"

"Yes!" Her bright smile at this suggestion brought tears to his for some reason, and he covered it by lifting her fingers to his lips and kissing them.

"Okay, sweetheart, but you are gonna lose."

***MS***

When Henry McCord finally collapsed next to her much later that night - after Face the Nation - after his own rage-fueled breakdown. It seemed the day could've been divided into equal parts good and horrible.

He was proud of her - proud of them. He was proud of how far they'd travelled together - stunned by her inner strength. They were strong together, the whole family unit. Too many years in the military had left him to forever view themselves this way - a tight unit prepped for whatever difficulty came their way.

And yet, it had been horrible, too. Watching Face the Nation - watching her children watch Face the Nation - and his own uncontrolled and shameful rage. He couldn't believe he'd allowed his sense of powerlessness and rage, lash out at Jason. He was grateful she hadn't been there to witness it. No apologies could make up for the way he'd glared at his own boy - his helpless fury falling all around this innocent child.

_What have I done to our sweet children?_

And he wanted to say to her,"Nothing but strengthen them I'm the one who has torn them down!"

He'd stayed with Jason until he'd fallen asleep so heartbroken that his sorrow had spilled over and hurt his son. "It's okay, Dad." Jason had told him over and over. "It's okay."

He was grateful that the day was over and that dawn would bring a new one - with new chances to do things right. He walked down the hall to find Ali curled in bed, asleep beside her mother. Stevie was stretched out on the chaise lounge, reading a book in the dim light.

He sat down on the edge of the chaise and reaching out looked at the back of the book, studying its title. He was surprised to see it was a book about Saint Augustine.

"Light reading?" He whispered.

"Turns out, you might be on to something." She said with a shrug. "When real trouble comes, a novel about vampires offers nothing to sustain you."

He smiled at her, and leaning close kissed her forehead. "We can find a path that will lead us back." He promised her. "Your mom will be okay, sweetie."

"So will you." She smiled at him, and closing her book, rose and crossed the room. She paused for a second gazing down at them and then quietly shook Alison's shoulder.

"Noodle? C'mon, squirt. Let Dad get some sleep. You are in his spot."

Alison stirred and climbed out of bed, following her older sister out of the room. "Night, Dad." Stevie said, pulling the door closed behind her.

He sighed, so grateful for them - so content to be the father of such loving and thoughtful children. He sat on the edge of the bed and looked down at Elizabeth, unable to manage the emotions that threatened to spill over into tears again. But just as darkness threatened to swallow him, she gave a soft snore and he found himself laughing at the contrast -such a poised and beautiful woman and that snore.

He crawled in beside her, and even heavy with sleep, she turned toward him, muttering in her sleep - plagued by dark memories that never seemed to relent. Wrapping his arms around her he was comforted deeply; their connection so strong that even sound asleep her heart sought his for comfort.

***MS***

"You could meet me for lunch?" She suggested.

"Are you actually going to eat?" He asked feigning mock surprise.

In the days since Face the Nation, it seemed she was busier than ever. It frustrated him when their schedules clashed.

"Henry, don't." She shook her head annoyed.

"I can't, babe. Sorry. I got a thing this afternoon."

"A thing?" She raised an eyebrow. "Oh, God! Please tell me it isn't an NSA thing! I haven't cracked those pills open yet, but I might consider it if you are going 007 on me."

"No, hon. And don't you have that meditation thing, now?"

"Don't deflect. I concentrate on the inner beauty that surrounds us in a half an hour." She rolled her eyes, conveying just what she thought of meditation.

"I thought you said it helps."

"It does but it also pisses me off. I've never been a see-the-inner-light type and you know it. But you are just avoiding telling me something - what?" She furrowed her brows.

He leaned against the kitchen counter and sighed, "I have a security briefing scheduled today."

"Security briefing?" A look of confusion passed over her face. "Henry, you don't have security . . ." And then her eyes grew wide with understanding. "You mean _security briefing_?" She asked.

"Elizabeth, look it's not that big of a deal," He said hoping to avoid a long discussion.

_"Security briefing!?"_ Her bright blue eyes registered shock.

Security briefing was official code for her visits to the therapist's office. Her official schedule contained the word every week and Frank, the head of security was the only one who knew about the real meetings which took place in a formerly empty office, just across from the State Department building. Frank was the only agent to accompany her there and back.

"Henry! You didn't say anything to me! You are . . . Oh, God! Are you going to sit around and talk about me for an hour?"

"A session is 52 minutes, babe." He grinned at her. "And don't flatter yourself! I've got plenty of my own crap to talk about."

She paused in her teasing, and he saw the shine of tears in her eyes, "Henry, is it that you think I'm too fragile or . . . You can talk to me, babe."

"I do talk to you." He reached out squeezing her arm gently. "It's just well," He blushed self-consciously, appreciating the irony of his next sentence. "I think maybe Iran affected me more than I realized. It's no big deal though, babe. I'm a quick study. Just a couple of sessions and I'll be all good." He winked at her.

She studied him in silence, and he could tell from her expression that she was struggling. He had avoided mentioning his choice to see the therapist for as long as possible. She had experienced enough guilt and stress to last a lifetime and he knew from experience that she would find a way to make his need for therapy _her_ fault. He said nothing, but kept his hand on her arm, rubbing gentle circles.

"Seriously, baby. It's nothing to stress about. I probably won't keep it up. You and I talk all the time, so it's just a quick check-in."

"Really? Because just your weird issues with old books could take a lifetime of study." She grinned at him. "Does she know you actually have a notebook for the names of lost or torn books that you call the Annals of the Lost?"

"You be careful, Elizabeth J McCord, or I'll tell her about that night in Trinidad." He teased, relieved that she had chosen to tease him.

"Henry! Don't you dare! I was twenty-two for God's sake and you gave me all that tequila!" He laughed, pulling her close.

"It's okay, baby. All your secrets are safe with me." He kissed her forehead.

"But Henry," she asked quietly. "You didn't tell me you were going to see her."

"I know." He sighed. "I'm sorry. I guess I was embarrassed."

"So, it's nothing for _me_ to be ashamed of but _you_ can be embarrassed." She stepped out of his arms, irritated.

"Nothing happened to me, Liz." He sighed. "You were surrounded by violence - nearly killed. That seems like good reason to see a therapist. I was at home. I got a phone call."

She softened, considering his words. "It wasn't nothing." She said putting her arms around him. "The violence happened to you, too. And you kept this house together - made sure our girls were comforted."

"Yeah, but babe, it seems a little . . . I mean what happened to you was so much more . . ." He sighed. "Never mind. Look. This is where we are and so I'm not going to hide it from you, okay. It's just a thing I need to do." He shrugged his shoulders.

"Because of me. Henry, I'm so . . ."

"Elizabeth," He said, sharply, cutting her off. "If you apologize for this, not only am I going to have to add three extra sessions but you are going to have to share your nervous pills with me."

"Okay." She said exhaling slowly. "Okay." She nodded at him. "So, no lunch."

"You go ahead and eat lunch - it just won't be with me." He grinned at her, leaning in and kissing her. "Now go, find the inner light."

She rolled her eyes at this. "Fine. Whatever. I'll see you, tonight."

"Love you." He called as she gathered up her belongings, sliding her glasses on her face.

"Love you, too." She said pausing to kiss him.

He watched her go, and felt a strange pang as the memory of her rushing out the door washed over him. _"I'll see you in a couple days."_

He shook off the memory and turned to the office, looking for his bag. If he hurried he might be able to hit the coffee cart before his first lecture. He stepped out into the cold air, pulling his coat tight around himself, and looked up into a bright blue sky. The clouds above him seemed heavy with snow that would probably fall later today. He felt a sudden homesickness for the peace and quiet of the farm. He flipped his collar up and turned the corner. His phone vibrated in his pocket and he lifted it to see a text from her.

I love you, Henry. Thank you.

He smiled at his phone, and pausing in his walk, immediately texted her back.

I think you are pretty okay. Maybe we can meet up later?

After study hall?

Her response was pretty typical.

I don't know. I've got a steady boyfriend. And he's a marine.

He grinned as he texted:

Then maybe you should stop flirting with me. Besides, aren't

you supposed to be running the government or something? Wait!

You are supposed to be meditating!

He laughed out loud at her response -

I'm multi-tasking.

He shook his head, punching the buttons on his phone with fingers that had grown numb from the cold.

I gotta go. ONE of us has to get some work done. I love you!

Have a good day, and call me later.

He slid his phone back into his pocket, and doubled his pace. No coffee cart, now, but for some reason, he didn't seem to care.

***MS***

_Thanks for all the reviews. Leena - you are very kind and encouraging! I appreciate all the kind words left by my "guest" reviewers. I must confess to having favorites - Liz, Henry, Blake are my big three. I don't mind the kids at all and know that some people really can't stand Stevie, but I kind of like her. I guess it is just that I'm old but her behavior is so wonderfully, normal, self-righteous, stupid young person stuff - I like it. It's pretty typical of a college age girl and I can relate. I remember lecturing my father about the evil of apartheid when I was 19! I also caught the error in a previous chapter and plan to fix it - I know when she called Henry from inside her office she was on her office phone - so she never could've put it in her pocket as I wrote it - thanks for pointing it out! I forgot that she was on the regular phone when I wrote it. I'm sure I've got other errors too - Lord knows, I spell-check things to death but something always SLIPS through! _

_The story isn't over yet, but it is getting pretty close - two chapters left._

_DECADEBABY_


	16. Chapter 16

ELIZABETH MCCORD had moments when things felt completely normal. She would be at home with her family, or in her office at work, and it was as if Iran hadn't ever happened - or had happened a long time ago. She would be present in the moment right in front of her with no thoughts or memories from the past few weeks. She would look across the dinner table at Henry and he would smile at her, whether in understanding or just general happiness, she didn't know, and she would feel her whole being relax - feeling that she was finally truly home again.

From the time, they came to the bunker until her foot touched the front step of their house, she had wanted only that - to be at home - for it all to be behind her. But she had recognized even as she fell into Henry's arms that home was still very far away. More often than not, she was okay now, and even when bad dreams or panic threatened, now she felt there was hope in sight. Those first few days after Iran were some of her darkest; for she had never been without hope before.

She had not even been able to speak until Germany. Frank and the agents had done all the talking. She somehow couldn't even open her mouth. When they'd first met her in the bunker, Frank himself had turned to her and said, "Ma'am, we'll get you home, alright? Can you tell us what happened inside?"

She had stood stupidly blinking at him with wide eyes. John Kendall had stepped in, "We were overrun, sir. Fred went down and we had to scramble. By the time we got back, Javani's security detail had removed everyone from the house and brought them here - what was left of his security detail, anyway."

It was like listening to a story about someone else. She couldn't even really hear anything - her ears rang with gunfire and screams. She stood silent, and something passed over Frank's face - pity maybe. He had leaned in closer to her, a hand on her arm - something they never did; her agents never touched her - unless she was in danger.

"We'll get you out of here, ma'am and on a plane. We need to stop in Landstuhl first - take care of the injured and then home. They've already contacted Dr. McCord, ma'am. He knows you are alright. We can get a line out in Germany, and you can talk to him yourself."

She remembered little of the journey to Germany. The only thing that seemed to remain with her was that horrible ride to the airfield - the bodies hanging in the streets. At any other time in her life, she would've reacted with anger and outrage - she would have been yelling and demanding something be done, but instead she had simply sat passively blinking as the cars rolled away from Tehran.

Germany was more vivid. The injured being unloaded - the bodies. She had been led out of the airplane just in time to see the bodies being wheeled off and transferred to another plane. She recognized the heel of Fred's shoe only because the day before her shirt had some sort of glittery sheen to it, and he had complained that he his shoes were now encrusted with "fairy dust."

"This sort of thing never happened with Vincent Marsh." He had teased her.

"Really?" She had smiled up at him. "He never wore evening gowns?"

She had recognized that he was just trying to break the incredible tension that they all felt - everyone had understood that going to Iran with such a small detail was incredibly dangerous. Fred had been the one who had picked her up the morning she left - the one who saw her wipe tears out of her eyes as they rolled away from the house. And now, he was dead.

In Germany they had immediately taken her to a medic. It was only then that she finally found her voice again. The first words she spoke after the attack were, "No!" and "Leave me alone!" They had tried to help her out of her torn and bloody shirt, but she had refused. They looked at each other over her head, and then treated her with her shirt still on. The medic had said, "Ma'am, you need stitches." She found herself lying on her stomach, as some twenty-year-old kid put twenty-two stitches in her lower back.

"They did a good job." He said softly to her. "It was glass?"

"Yes." She said softly trying not to picture the room - or the faces of Javani and Abdol smiling at one another - Fred's gentle voice asking, "Did you get to talk to Alison, ma'am?"

"Well, they got out all the pieces, but we'll need to watch for infection. And I'll give you some script for antibiotics. It is really important that you take all of them - everyday. Infection is the greatest danger with battle wounds."

_Battle wounds_.

The words seemed to cling to her - like a bad smell. She remembered when Henry had come home from Desert Storm. She had catalogued every single inch of him. Checking every mark, every scar. He'd come home to her relatively untouched. She had feared that war would rob him of his kindness and compassion, but it seemed to have the opposite effect; he came back to her determined to make the connection between them stronger than ever.

"Ma'am, let's call Dr. McCord." Frank said moving to stand beside her. She was sitting up on the gurney, her back stinging from the stitches. Her entire left side aching from the impact on being thrown to the ground - of having a man who stood well over six feet land on her. She swallowed hard, and shook her head.

"I don't think I can . . ."

"We have a few minutes before we leave again. He needs to hear your voice, ma'am. Just give him a call." He held the phone in one hand, his other arm in a sling.

"Is it broken?" She asked, indicating his arm.

"No, ma'am. My shoulder was dislocated. It feels better to keep my arm still and resting." He held the phone out to her.

"I don't know what I'd say." And tears had filled her eyes. "I don't think I can talk." This had come out in a whisper, as tears had rolled down her face. "Fred is dead?"

"Yes, Madam Secretary. But you are alive, and that was the most important thing to him. Fred knew exactly what he was doing. This was the life he chose ma'am." Frank said gently. "Let's go ahead and call home, alright? Dr. McCord has been so worried."

But she'd shook her head. The thought of Henry, grieved her. How could she even begin to explain to him everything that had happened? How could she look in his kind, compassionate eyes and confess that at least five men were dead because of her?

"I'll dial it, alright?" He said, ignoring her protest. "Russell Jackson already spoke to him and explained everything. You don't have to be the one to tell him, ma'am. He already knows."

She simply stared up at him with wide eyes filled with tears. "I just want to go home, now." She whispered. "Can I go home?"

"Yes, ma'am. They are getting the plane ready." Frank's voice was gentle. He turned the phone and began pushing buttons. "I'm calling Henry, now."

Talking to Henry had been impossible. She couldn't stop crying and it felt like a thousand eyes were on her. Frank stood a few feet away, his back to her - standard Agent Pose. An orderly approached with her meds, but Frank lifted a hand to his chest, and took the pills from the young man. The sound of Henry weeping had been too much to bare. She was so ashamed. She'd caused so much damage and now Henry was weeping for her - as if she were innocent of any crime. She just wanted to close her eyes and slip away. She just wanted everything to be over; to be home.

But home hadn't been what she'd expected. She'd felt completely numb. She recognized that she was exhausted, in shock and drugged, but still she had received her family's hugs and their declarations of love with a kind of detached numbness. Even hours later, she couldn't seem to unwind - her whole body felt tight with stress. Henry watched her with wide, teary, worried eyes, and she wanted to dissolve into his embrace but couldn't seem to manage it. She felt like she'd been holding her breath for such a long time, that she had forgotten how to exhale.

She stalled by saying that she wanted a bath. She had hoped she could just sink into the tub and forget everything. She had trouble taking off the sweater Blake had brought her - it hurt to lift her arm still, but the pain meds must have been doing their job because gritting her teeth she was able to slide out of it without any help. She stood in her bathroom, home and safe, dressed in just her underwear staring at herself in the mirror - did she look different? Were there noticeable marks on her body that declared to the universe she'd survived a horrific battle? Yet, she looked the same - there were a few bruises, and she knew there was a steady line of stitches across her back, but other than that nothing had really changed. It was disorienting. It seemed that she should remove her clothes to reveal a large and gaping wound - that's how she felt.

She slid into clothes that belonged to Henry - an old t-shirt from bootcamp and pair of his boxers. It was her standard comfort outfit. When he'd fought in Desert Storm, she'd slept in his clothes every night; comforted. She sat down on the ledge of the tub, turning on the water and that's when she'd looked down and saw it.

Blood.

A faint line of red that ran down her leg. She reached for a washcloth, intending to wash it away, and then she had realized that the blood wasn't hers. Fred had fallen across her body, struck down by gunfire. His blood had been on her shoulder and neck, but they had wiped it clean in the bunker - the first quick check they'd done to make sure she was alright. An agent she had never seen before came into the bunker with Frank.

"Ma'am, pardon me, let me just see if we can't get this cleaned up." She was a younger agent with bright red hair, and gentle fingers. "Are you injured anywhere else?" She'd asked softly as she carefully washed the blood from her shoulder and neck. She looked over her left arm, and Elizabeth had winced as she moved it.

"Ma'am, did you hurt your arm?" But of course she'd been unable to answer. "Agent Cole fell across you? It is probably bruised. He was a tall man, wasn't he?" She met Elizabeth's eyes, and smiling sadly asked very softly, "Did anything _else_ happen to you?"

She understood the question. She hadn't been able to explain everything that had happened yet, and Javani's wife was too traumatized to explain either. No one really knew how they got from Javani's house to the bunker. And of course, in a dangerous world, anything was possible. She shook her head. It was the best she could manage at the time; later in Germany the doctors would ask her outright - _Did anyone attack you? Were you raped?_

She had been able to haltingly explain then, how Javani's security team had come in just a few minutes (it felt like hours) after the attack. They'd pulled Fred up off of her, and then led her, Abdol and the family to the safety of the bunker.

After all these questions, they'd treated her injuries as she refused to change her clothes, so no one had seen the blood on her leg. She knew it was Fred's. She stared down at her leg - at the blood on her leg and couldn't believe she was back at home in her own bathroom, and Fred was forever lost. She couldn't believe that just five days ago none of this had happened.

She began to cry, silently at first - thinking of the kind-hearted and soft spoken agent. He always smiled at her wry comments and laughed outright when people tried to corner her, shaking his head when they underestimated her. He'd once said to her, "Ma'am, people look at you and think, 'She's small and _blonde_!' They have no idea who they are dealing with. And I gotta tell you, it is one of the most entertaining parts of my job - watching you cut 'em down to size."

He'd willingly participated in the ruse to help with the investigation - and cheered alongside her at Ali's soccer game. He'd once put on a Santa Claus suit, so that he could accompany her to a Six Flags Fright Night with Jason. And now he was dead, his blood staining her leg. She hadn't realized that she had cried aloud, until Henry had come into the room - he'd been just outside the door since she'd gone inside - unsure and anxious. His eyes had grown wide with shock and then teary with compassion as she'd pointed at the blood and explained, "It's not mine."

She hadn't remembered anything after that - other than being tucked in Henry's arms, trying desperately to stop crying; to stop shaking.

The days that followed weren't any better. Sleep had been impossible and after awhile even drawing in a deep breath seemed impossible. She had never felt such anguish. A part of her recognized that she was in desperate need of help but part of her just wanted to believe that everything was fine. _Just wait another day. It will get better._ She kept trying to convince herself that things weren't as bad as they seemed - that she had a handle on it.

Fighting with Henry was how she knew how bad things were. She blew up at him over and over for no reason. And she wasn't stupid. She'd read about battle and stress - hell, she'd read a whole book about PTSD when Henry was in Desert Storm trying to prepare herself for the worst. She understood that the problem was locked up inside her; all the things she hadn't said - all the things she hadn't allowed herself to think or feel. A part of her recognized that she had to speak them out, face them, admit that she was deeply, deeply hurt by it all. But the pain she managed at the time was so intense - she believed it would be a million times worse if she faced it all.

Henry was typically Henry - patient, compassionate and understanding which made it worse. She felt horrible every time she found herself screaming at him for no reason. His sad eyes on her, as he patiently waited out her rage. It was only regarding Jason that he'd pushed back.

_Are you ready to talk?_

His tone was angry and yet, even in her crazed and confused state she recognized the anguish of it. He was hurt by it; anxious and waiting. But it was all she could manage and so she kept pushing him away and he accepted it.

The panic attack had been the breaking point. She couldn't hide it any more; not from him and not from herself. But even then, she couldn't face it. He was right of course - she desperately needed help. But all she could think was, _no, not yet. I can't say it - can't face all the terrible things I caused._

Even after falling apart at work with Blake smuggling her downstairs - leading her like a small lost child - even then she couldn't speak of it. Henry said nothing - held her hand, convinced her to eat a few bites of food and tried to persuade her to sleep.

The house felt fractured and disjointed. The kids hid out in Jason's room. She felt like such a failure as a mother - couldn't bring herself to check in on them. She added it to her list of things she was failing at -the damage she was causing.

"Babe, don't worry about it. They are fine. Give yourself a pass, okay?" Henry had said trying to reassure her.

He was always saying that to her. He was always pointing out the logic - _These things aren't your fault and you can't bare the weight of them._ It is no doubt what he would say this time, too. It didn't matter. No logic - no words could change how she felt or erase what she'd seen.

And then finally, finally late that night, after Russell's surprising visit and confession, after a day of Henry hovering nearby, supportive, anxious, patient - she had finally opened the door - just a tiny crack. And it was horrible, remembering it - telling him about Abdol - her darkest secret. She could hear the sound of his screams even as she spoke, but closing her eyes it was Jason's face she saw, not Abdol's; her mind mixing up her own sweet child with Javani's son. The whole time she spoke she kept her eyes on the tv screen in front of her, unable to face Henry - knowing if she looked at him, she would be unable to confess her shame. _I couldn't get to him._ It hung over her. He was a child and she the only living adult in the room, and she hadn't been able to protect him.

And then it felt like something inside her cracked, and she could manage no more words, but only cling to him, sobbing at last. He hadn't soothed her with quiet shooshing or whispered soft reassurances that everything was alright. He had sobbed along with her, and then when her tears outpaced his, whispered lovingly, "Go ahead, Elizabeth. Don't fight it, babe." And she hadn't. Safe in his arms she let go and wept for the tall kind man who had stood beside her for nearly a year, and then rushed to protect her as bullets meant for her cut him down. She wept for a boy who lived in a world that allowed him to witness the death of a father that he loved, every bit as much as Jason loved Henry. And she wept for the small, hopeful, blonde woman who had wanted so desperately to save them all.


	17. Chapter 17

ELIZABETH MCCORD hated loss of control of any kind. She preferred to be in charge - managing things herself. It wasn't simply pride that she could do things better than most, but the sense of powerlessness that she associated with loss of control took her backward in time. It reminded her too much of being a small child standing at her mother's coffin, and overhearing grownups decide what was best for her. The next thing she knew she had been deposited at her first boarding school - losing her home, her mother, and her father all in one fell swoop.

She had grown to love her school, and remembered her days there with great fondness. As an adult, she'd even come to understand that her father's decision to send her away was a loving act on his part - for he truly believed that boarding school would be better than a life waiting for him to return from endless business trips - alone in a house that once held her mother's light. Yet, still she had hated the powerlessness of those days. No one asked her what she wanted. No one listened when she spoke. She had no say.

PTSD felt like being that lost child all over again - magnified ten million percent. She had no control over any flashbacks - they would come over like a wave, and once they began she couldn't fight them off. Her temper would flare, and even as it happened, a small piece of her brain would recognize that she was being unreasonable, and yet she couldn't stop it. The panic attack had been the worst, of course - the penultimate example of her lack of control - her body forgot how to breathe - her heart forgot it's rhythm.

Talking to Henry had helped. Abdol had been a dark secret inside her - haunting her every moment. The guilt was crushing - not just guilt for being unable to help him, but for Fred and the rest of the team. It hurt to think of Fred's face - laughing at something she said, or frowning when she approached him with a gentle, "Now, I know you can make this happen Fred."

She was always pushing him to find a way for her to watch Ali play soccer, or sneak into the back of one of Henry's lectures, or travel half a world away to stop a coup. She hated that decisions she had made left people around her dead. Just seeing Fred's picture, outside her office, sometimes caused her to catch her breath, and she'd have to focus in on breathing steadily to keep the waves of panic at bay. Henry had suggested asking that it be moved somewhere else, but in a way she viewed it as her daily litmus test - could she see his picture and not fall apart?

Until she had made her confession to Henry she had carried this crushing, grinding and piercing guilt and pain inside her. It had been unbearable which is why her own body fought against her - refusing to allow her sleep and filling her with constant anxiety and endless pain. It was only after she'd wept in Henry's arms that she recognized the foolishness of trying to carry it all alone. Henry might not be able to truly understand or accept her guilt over all that she had set in motion, but he could hold her tight when it felt that everything was flying apart. And he was good at providing her with perspective.

"Sweetheart," he had told her more than once. "You didn't set that coup in motion. You didn't kill Vincent Marsh. You didn't even ask to be Secretary of State."

She nodded her head at this - trying to manage the truth of his words. "You are right, I know. I'm listening, Henry. I am."

She told him that often. _I'm listening. I hear you._ She had to say it out loud so that he'd know despite her endless tears and irrational guilt she was clinging to the truth he whispered just as a frightened child clings to their mother's hand

And he would respond without many other words, only pulling her tighter into his embrace, and saying, "I love you." He was constantly reminding her that she was still loveable. He had stood just off camera during her interview for Face the Nation, her strong tower against the waves of guilt that swept over her as she retold the story for the world at large; his warm eyes reminding her that even in her powerless moments she was beloved.

The best thing about appearing on Face the Nation was that it distracted not only the world at large, but also her staff. The memory of her screaming at Minister Chen, being taken out of the office by paramedics, and smuggled out the back of the building sobbing uncontrollably seemed to fade in light of her performance on Face the Nation. Daisy was overjoyed but had the good sense to keep relatively quiet about it.

"You did such an amazing job, ma'am." She had told her the day after it had aired. "I know that couldn't have been easy for you, but if you could read the polls." She hesitated here, recognizing that Elizabeth McCord would never read the polls. "And the support you've received has just been amazing."

"Thank you." Her clipped answer and tight smile, dissuaded the young press secretary from continuing.

Daisy had smiled and then with a nod had disappeared into her office. Through the large glass windows she could see Daisy's hands in constant motion as she spoke with Matt - no doubt joyously celebrating the Brave Secretary's Media Sensation. And she could understand it too - Daisy's excitement. If you weren't the person in the center of the battle - it looked dramatically inspirational. It looked romantic - from the outside.

Both Blake and Nadine approached her with cautious gentleness. They would pause when discussing daily plans - waiting for her protest. She had never heard Blake say the words, "Is that alright, ma'am?" so many times. Nadine wasn't really any better - although her technique was to begin each sentence with, "If it is alright with you, ma'am . . ." It began to get on her nerves until she had called them both into her office.

"Look, I really appreciate how much support you've shown me in the last few weeks. I really do." She leaned forward, her hands resting on the top of her desk, as the two of them sat across from desk. "But you are going to have to trust that I've got a handle on things now. I can't expect world leaders to view me with any sense of power, if the two of you are hesitant and cautious."

"Yes, ma'am." They both responded.

"Good. So we can get back to work, now?" She asked with a raised eyebrows.

"Yes, ma'am." Blake responded.

"Yes, Madam Secretary." Nadine said rising. "Although, for clarification purposes only. I have never been hesitant about your abilities, ma'am. It stemmed more from a sense of protectiveness. This job," She gave a wide sweep of her hand around the office. "can cost you everything, if you allow it. And I don't think every issue that comes to your door is more important than your soul."

Elizabeth smiled at this. "I know, Nadine. I appreciate it. Trust me to know when the cost gets too, high, alright?"

"Yes, ma'am." Nadine said and with a nod left the office. Blake followed behind her. His hand was on the door when Elizabeth stopped him.

"Alright, hold on there." She said rising and standing in front of her desk. "You aren't escaping that easily."

"Ma'am, I've got a tremendous pile of paperwork and . . ." He waved his hand in the direction of the outer office.

"Blake." She folded her arms across her chest and with a visible sagging of his shoulders, he returned to stand in front of her.

"Yes, ma'am." He said, his head low.

"Look, you and I have a pretty strange . . ." She began but then paused, redirecting herself. "Blake, I can't express how thankful I am for all that you've done. I know it probably didn't seem like it, but seeing you standing there to ride with me to the house . . ." She swallowed, shaking her head. "It meant a lot to me. And I know that all you were rewarded with when I got back was a lot of unreasonable anger and some pretty stressful days."

"Ma'am, you don't have to . . ." He glanced up at her, embarrassed.

"I do." She smiled at him. "It is really hard choosing an assistant because in this town - in this building - there's no way you are only going to be exposed to my work life. The line gets blurred sometimes. There's no other person in this whole building who has been inside my house. I didn't ask Jay to watch over Ali and Jason when I was gone, did I? I mean, you've pulled clothes out of my dresser for God's sake!" She paused, briefly at a loss and then finally burst out unexpectedly. "I spilled that glass on purpose."

"Ma'am!" Blake's eyes grew wide at her confession.

"I had to know where you stood - I needed an assistant right away, and so I had to learn how you saw me - what you really thought." She smiled at him. "If you had tried to keep it from spilling on me, it would've shown that you thought I was fragile - needing protection."

"And saving the papers instead?" He asked.

"It meant that you recognized what was important - what was important to the office. It showed that you understood I could manage myself." She waited, watching him as he processed this information. He considered thoughtfully for a long moment, and just as she expected, he understood her unspoken question.

"I would like to say that I would still save the papers." He rubbed his chin in thought. "And I think I would. But," He paused looking up to meet her eyes. "I would also try to keep the water from spilling on you, too. I would try and figure out a way to do both."

"Well . . ." She considered this for a moment. "I'm not a complete lost cause then."

"No, ma'am." He said with a grin. "You are definitely _not_ a damsel in distress. I've never thought that." He emphasized his words, suddenly serious. "Not once."

"Alright, then." She smiled at him and reaching out squeezed his forearm. "I guess we better get to work then."

"Yes ma'am." He agreed turning to leave her office. "You have a meeting with the Italians in half an hour."

"Thank you." She said, following him to the door. She was surprised when after taking two long strides out, he doubled-back into her office quickly - decisively.

"Ma'am, did it ever occur to you, that it doesn't mean that I don't see you as being capable?" He spoke quickly, as though he might lose his nerve if he paused to even take a breath.

"Blake, you don't have to . . ."

"Maybe making sure the water doesn't spill on you, just means that you are valuable. Did you ever consider that possibility? You don't just protect things that are weak, ma'am. You protect things that are one-of-kind. If something is irreplaceable you'd do just about anything to ensure it was safe." He folded his arms across his chest, as though he had won an argument.

"No one else could have gone to Iran like you did. No one else could have stepped into this office and managed things like you have." He turned to leave her, but glancing over his shoulder said, "I'm changing my answer completely. We can always reprint the paperwork. You run that test again, and I'm making sure the water doesn't spill on you. Every. Damn. Time." And with that he disappeared.

It was things like that - Blake's protective defiance, Nadine's polite watchful caution, even Daisy pausing to actually _think_ before she spoke - those small changes threw her off balance. They reminded her that she had returned from Iran changed. And it was hard not to look in the mirror and see a woman weakened by the attack, especially when those around her treated her in ways that _seemed_ to support that idea. She tried to see things as Blake did - that it was in deference to her importance, not her frailty that kept them in a tight ring, protective around her.

Henry was in complete rebellion on this issue. He didn't try to hide or apologize for his protectiveness one bit.

"What the hell, Elizabeth?" He said shaking his head at her. "Of course, I'm keeping an eye on you! I'm supposed to act like I don't care?" His eyes had grown wide with shock.

"Henry, that isn't what I meant. . ." She tried to explain.

"Babe," He exhaled, his voice softening. "I get it. Okay. Nobody on this planet has a better understanding of your independent spirit, alright? I'm not . . . I don't think you are weak, okay? It doesn't have anything to do with that."

"Right." She said nodding her head, and trying to make herself see things from his point of view.

"Don't. You can't blow that off, babe. Listen to me, alright?" He said to her. "I can tell you are humoring me. Look, we both have our baggage from this, right? And maybe five years down the road I won't throw up when someone mentions you traveling to the middle east, but for right now, I've got some strong reactions to things."

She looked up at him, surprised. "Henry, I didn't . . ."

He moved to where she sat on the bench on the end of their bed, sitting down beside her. "I know." He told her. "It's hard for me to talk about too, babe. And so, I'm a little bit overprotective for now. It has more to do with me, than it does with you, really. You can see that, can't you?"

"I can." She said nodding her head, and turning to face him. "I'm sorry, Henry. I've been a little inwardly focused, I guess."

He laughed at this, wrapping his arm around her shoulders, and she leaned into him, her head resting against his shoulder.

"Inwardly focused is the last way I'd ever describe you, Elizabeth." He kissed her forehead. "I know it steps on your toes a little, babe, but I feel more comfortable keeping you close. It keeps the demons at bay."

"'Love always protects.'" She quoted softly. He smiled widely at this, and brushed the hair back from her forehead.

"I've got you quoting St. Paul." He said leaning close to kiss her.

"St. Paul?" She said with a laugh after she broke away from his kiss. "I thought Oprah said it." She winked at him, teasing.

He shook his head at her, but said, nothing opting instead to pull her in tight for another thousand kisses.

***MS***

"What do you expect, Bess?" Isabelle asked her, leaning back against the couch cushions. "I mean seriously, you recognize that what you did was completely crazy, right?"

"I am not really comfortable with the word crazy right now." Elizabeth said taking a sip of wine.

"Please! You aren't going to try and downplay the effects of battle on me?" Isabel shook her head. "Well, Henry's right, Bess. You have never once given yourself a break. I've been in some pretty horrific situations. It has an impact. It is part of the price we pay." Her face grew dark, and her tone serious.

"You ever been carted out of your office from a fake heart attack?"

"It wasn't fake." Isabel shook her head. "Beside you are just trying to get me to talk about the parts of the story that _don't_ matter. You forget who you are talking to."

"I'm not trying to . . ."

"Yes, you are." Isabelle interrupted. "I don't blame you." She sighed. "God, if Henry ever finds out where Juliet is . . ."

"Stop." Elizabeth said. "I don't want to talk about her." Her lungs felt suddenly small and she had to focus on filling them with air.

"Okay, I'm sorry." Isabel said reaching out and taking the wine glass out of Elizabeth's hand. She set it down on a coaster and then moved closer, rubbing gentle circles on her friend's back who leaned forward struggling to catch her breath.

"See." She said gasping for air. "This whole thing is ridiculous."

"Shut up, Bess." Isabel said softly. "Just breathe."

Tears threatened to spill out of the corners of her eyes but instead she lowered her head and focused on regaining control of her heart.

Saying goodbye to Isabel later, she had finally been able to say what she had wanted to say before panic had threatened. "Listen Isabel, about everything . . ." She paused unsure. "About her. I'm not ready for that yet. I need to . . ."

But Isabel had stopped her. "It's fine. There's always tomorrow, too." She had said with a smile.

It was something Isabel had said to her a million times. She had a habit of developing a singular and razor sharp focus. She would get bogged down trying to find a solution and Isabel would have to remind her to eat, to sleep and to go home. Isabel had stood beside her desk, holding her coat out to her more times than she could count, saying, "Go home, Bess. There's always tomorrow, too." It was as true now, as it was back then.

***MS***

Later, that night, safe at home with Henry, she'd been able to say for the first time without any sense of anxiety, "I'm sorry for all the havoc and pain it has brought. Especially, the pain it has caused you." She paused, testing her own heart to see if any sense of panic threatened but drawing in a deep breath, she continued. "And of course I'm sorry for Zahed, and for Fred," Here her voice failed a little but meeting Henry's eyes she continued. "But I had to go."

"Yes," He agreed, crossing to her and pulling her into his arms so that her head rested against his chest. "You did. Though it breaks my heart to see how much it wounds you, even I understand you had to go."

"It's not over, Henry." She confessed leaning her head back to look into his face. His eyes clouded with tears but he held them back.

"I know, baby." He kissed her and then pulled her in close again. "We can't stop any of it. You are here 'for such a time as this.'"

"I'm no Esther." She said recognizing the quote.

"I don't know, babe. A beautiful, powerful woman saves a country from destruction - risking her own life because she's the _only one _who can. Sounds, a lot like you, sweetheart."

"Elizabeth McCord savior of Biblical proportions?" She laughed. "Babe, you are losing perspective!"

"I've got no perspective when it comes to you, sweetheart." He confessed. "And I can't say I'm looking forward to the rest of this mess, but I can promise you this - I'm not sending you out alone like that ever again."

"Henry, you can't . . ."

"I don't mean I'm going to babysit you on every trip but next time you feel that terrified about going somewhere, I don't give a damn about protocol and optics, I'm going with you, Elizabeth." His voice was firm and she understood it was pointless to argue.

"I hear you." She told him.

"Good." He smiled at her and after kissing her, he returned to his notes and book, sitting on their bed.

She watched him for a few seconds and then sat on the edge of the bed at his feet. He looked up from his work at her.

"What?" He asked.

"Was this how it felt? Coming home from war?"

He paused thinking about the question but then shook his head. "A little maybe. But I was young then and not a father yet." He smiled at her setting his papers aside. "And I went there to fight. I was a soldier, darling. I had a weapon and I was trained."

She had reached out, her hand on his shin. She listened as her fingers ran small circles near his ankle.

"I can not. . ." He cleared his throat, causing her to look up. "You walked into a firefight unarmed and untrained. Alone." His voice failed him as tears spilled over, sliding off his dark lashes.

"I didn't go there alone." She corrected. "I was alone when I left." She thought again of her detail trying to remember them alive and around her - not slaughtered in a house in Iran.

"Some people say coming home is harder than a battle." He offered, his fingers brushing away his tears.

"I didn't have time to think really. Everything was so . . ." She paused drawing in a long, slow breath. "The only time I could really think about what was happening was after. It was so loud and then silent - except for . . . except for Abdol crying and me." She paused thoughtfully. "I think I was crying, too. I don't know." She sighed and glanced at him before continuing. "I was still pinned down by Fred and couldn't move, and my ears were ringing - you know that sound?"

"I do." His voice was dark and unfamiliar.

"I tried to push him off me, but he was . . .and I think it was just minutes that we were like that but it felt like an eternity. They came in, and I couldn't remember anything but English, so I didn't know what they were saying and I didn't know anyone. I wasn't sure who was there or what was happening. Javani's wife couldn't talk - she was too . . ." She ran a hand through her hair.

"They took you out of there but you weren't sure if they were with Javani?" He asked softly and she could hear the panic in his voice; the fear.

"No, and it didn't matter either way, Henry." She attempted to reassure him. "I was an American alone. Just because Javani trusted me, doesn't mean his security detail would. I mean I showed up and his house was attacked." She shrugged her shoulders. "But I just wanted out of that room, so when they pulled Fred off of me, I went with them."

"Hon," He brushed at more tears, his face white.

"As were leaving, I saw one of the soldiers lift Abdol up, carrying him. It reminded me of that time last fall when Jason was so sick with the flu. Remember? He was just so puny and you did that - picked him up and carried him upstairs. He didn't even fight you. Any other time and he would've been so humiliated - being carried like a baby." She smiled at the memory. "But he was so sick that he just melted against you. I think he was asleep before you got him in bed."

"He was." Henry said quietly, remembering.

"And I thought that a man who would look after a little boy like that, wouldn't harm me." She shrugged again. "So I went with them to the bunker." She scooted closer to Henry. "And the first thing I did was try to get word home. But they were reeling from the attacks and there was no communication, and we were still being hit by bombs so it took awhile."

"Nine hours and thirty-seven minutes." He said, his voice clipped and cold.

She nodded her head at him. "Too long."

"Too long." He agreed. He reached out, and ran his fingers along the side of her face. She leaned in kissing him, her eyes still blurred by tears, but deeply comforted by the beating of his heart, and the strength of his arms around her. Closing her eyes, she let go of everything, drifting free, accepting the comfort of his body, recognizing that sometimes letting go of all control was beautiful and healing.

***MS***

Later, he awoke to find her at her desk, the quiet clicking of the keys, familiar. She turned and smiled at him.

"Did I wake you?" She asked in a whisper. "I'm sorry."

"It's okay." He glanced at the clock. "Babe, it's three in the morning. Come back to bed."

"I just need to finish this." She indicated her computer. "I'm a little bit behind."

He laughed at this, running a hand over his face. "I can imagine, but you are okay? It isn't because of . . .?"

"No. I'll be there in a minute." She turned back to her computer, pushing her glasses back on her face. "It's just that I've still got work to do."

***AUTHOR'S NOTE***

_Thanks for your patience. I was a little slower on this chapter. I was distracted writing a chapter from Nadine's perspective, but it didn't feel right to switch voices. Hope you enjoy this one. Thanks for the reviews._


	18. Chapter 18

ALLISON MCCORD shut her locker and turned to find herself face-to-face with one of the Ashleys. Jason used to joke that Westmoreland was fifty percent Ashleys. Much as her little brother and his jaded, mocking tone bugged her, she missed having him nearby at school. It was comforting to pass him in the hallway. He'd usually say something like, "Hey, Nerd." Or he'd say nothing at all but just nod his head slightly. Despite the fact that he was younger than her, she felt comforted with him near; protected. He was the only one who knew about Travis who _still_ teased her unmercifully. Suddenly she wished he was still here at school with her. She didn't want to face Ashley alone. She wished she was as fiery as Jason or as self-confident as Stevie. She was always silent when people said mean things to her. She could never think of anything to say. She slid her backpack over her shoulder, and hoped that Ashley would leave her alone.

"Alison! Hey, are you going to Travis' birthday party? It's going to be huge!" Ashley asked and listening you could almost believe she was actually friendly.

"No, I'm going out of town this weekend." She tried to step around her.

"Didn't you have a birthday, too?"

"A few weeks ago." Alison shrugged.

"Sixteen, right?"

"Uh, huh." She kept her chin low, avoiding Ashley's eyes.

"Well, I was probably busy. I don't remember your party."

"I don't like birthday parties." Alison said. "I didn't have one."

"Oh." Ashley studied her. "Why don't you like birthday parties? That's crazy." She shook her head.

"Why does it matter to you?" Alison's angry tone surprised Ashley - actually it surprised Alison.

"Look, I am just trying to be nice. People have started talking. If you want to fit in here, there are things you need to do. You need to be seen at parties. And you really should rethink the 16th birthday party. It's a perfect opportunity to make a statement about who you are." Ashley said, wrapping a blond curl around her finger.

"I think my _not_ having a birthday party is a pretty good indication of who I am." Alison said. Even as she said it she could hear the echo of her mother's voice in her ear. She was so tired of everyone watching her - the "new girl", the girl whose brother was expelled and the ever present - "Do you know who her mother is?" She just wanted to be free and to live her life without everyone watching.

"Yeah, it says 'I'm no one.'" Ashley said rolling her eyes. "Look, I was just trying to help you out. Don't fall into the same hole your little brother did."

"What hole is that?" She asked.

"I don't know. Acting like you are better than everyone. People are talking and up to now, I've defended you, but maybe they are right. Maybe you are stuck up."

"I just don't like birthdays." Alison said. "All those people and presents - it's stupid. I don't need more stuff. And the world is full of people who have real needs."

"Oh, God. You are one of the Rainforest Club! I might have known. Look, we've got a couple of senator's kids here. Just because your Mom is a civil servant - it doesn't have to kill your reputation."

Ashley said civil servant as though it were a curse word, and suddenly Alison recognized there was no going back. She was tired of passively waiting out the mean comments or holding back when she was teased or snubbed or stared at - She just wished Jason or Stevie were around to witness it. They'd be so proud of her.

"Ashley, listen, I appreciate you coming over here and trying to save me. But I got to be honest with you. I'm a lost cause. I don't want to go to Travis' party. I don't _like_ Travis. All he has ever done is tease me and try to touch my boobs 'accidently'. You can tell him next time he tries, I'm going to kick him as hard as I possibly can, and if that doesn't dissuade him, I got a couple other moves my dad taught me. He's a Marine. And as to the rest, I'm not the least bit ashamed of who my mother is. I'm proud of her. I actually like both my parents. Feel free to _spread _that around, okay?"

"Whatever. It's your social suicide." Ashley stormed off, and Alison found herself standing alone in the nearly empty hallway. She felt strangely powerful. Of course, Ashley was right - it was social suicide. She had hoped that things would go well at Westmoreland, but now it looked like her circle of friends just got smaller.

***MS***

BLAKE MORAN glanced again at his watch. He stood at the back of her office and cleared his throat.

"Do you need some water, Blake?" She asked without looking up. Secretary McCord sat her desk, glasses on her face, studying the papers in front of her. Nadine stood just to her left, leaning down and looking at the same papers. She glanced up at Blake who pointed to his watch.

"I can see you." Elizabeth McCord said without looking up. "I feel like you are trying to send me a subtle message." She looked up at Blake with a grin.

"It's just that you had said you wanted to leave by 3:00, and I was just noticing that it is 2:57 right now." He said tentatively.

"Is it?" She looked at the clock on her computer screen. "Well, I guess I could take care of this tomorrow."

"Or the day after." He offered.

She took her glasses off and leaned back in her chair studying Blake. "What goes on here, when I leave the building?" She glanced over at Nadine, who smiled at her.

"Madam Secretary," Nadine said. "I'm afraid you don't have the clearance for us to share that information with you." She smiled at her boss. "Come on, Blake is right. This will all still be here when you get back."

"I'll call for the car, ma'am." Blake said turning and leaving her office.

"It seems as though I've done nothing but leave early, lately." She said rising and gathering her things.

"I imagine that is how it seems to you, but honestly, you left two hours early one day, and then took a day and half off. I wouldn't call that a shirking of responsibilities." Nadine said handing Elizabeth her coat. "And it is Friday at three o'clock. I guarantee you this town has already cleared out. You are one of the few workers left right now."

"Sadly, that might be true." She sighed. "Thanks for everything, Nadine. Have a good weekend."

"Yes, ma'am. You too."

She was riding in the car when her phone rang. "I'm almost there." She said without any greeting.

Henry's laughter filled her ears. "Good to know, babe. I was calling to see if you wanted to bring both of those suitcases. It seems a little extreme for over night."

"Both?" She asked. "I only packed the blue one."

"Your green one is here, too." He said confused.

"Oh." She said quietly. "They found my suitcase."

"Found?"

"We left Iran quickly." She said, her voice losing it's playful tone. "They must have had it delivered. Stevie was home this morning wasn't she."

"Yeah." He said. "I'll ask her." They said nothing for a long minute. "So," He said after a while, "The blue one then?"

"Yes. We just turned on our street."

"Good. I can't wait to get out of this town."

***MS***

To be honest, HENRY MCCORD really missed driving. In the beginning the idea of just climbing in a car and having someone else fight traffic seemed like a great idea, but the novelty had worn off pretty quickly. He missed grabbing Elizabeth's hand, and hopping into the car with no clear destination in mind. He missed saying to her, "Hey, babe, you want some ice cream?" and just taking off to go to Baskin-Robbins. Everything was such a big deal now. Everything required advance planning and security.

He settled against the seat, trying to ignore Alison and Jason's bickering from the seat behind him. He sat by the window of the SUV with Elizabeth to his right. She had her laptop open, her head down.

"I'm not listening to the two of you fight the whole way to the farm." She said without looking up. "So pull it together, or one of you plug into your phone right now."

"He's being a brat." Alison complained.

"You are stuck up." Jason said.

"Both of you knock it off." Henry said, leaning back and closing his eyes.

"Honestly," Stevie complained. "I can't believe I've got to ride in back with a couple of infants."

Henry glanced at his wife, who kept her eyes down on the screen in front of her. He nudged her shoulder gently. "Nothing like a family getaway to cure those nerves, right?"

"It's the tranquility that is so healing." She said wryly, but without looking at him. He furrowed his brows. He'd noticed that since they'd climbed into the SUV, she'd been tense, keeping her face down. "Hey, babe, you okay?"

She nodded without saying anything, but caught hold of his hand, squeezing gently. Letting go she clicked the keys of her computer, and he felt a little hurt that she wouldn't look at him, or talk. His cell phone vibrated, and he looked at the small screen.

\- Sorry. I guess I'm feeling a little anxious.-

He looked over at her, still puzzled, and glanced over his shoulder. All three kids had isolated themselves, staring at their own phones, ear buds in their ears.

-What is it? The suitcase?-

She had stared at the green suitcase for a long time when she'd come home, but hadn't touched it or opened it. He'd asked her about it, but she'd only said, "It's strange to think that when I packed it, things were completely different."

-I don't like the bigger SUVs.-

He wanted to reach out and touch her. It was ridiculous. They were sitting side-by-side, but having a conversation over their phones. He understood it. She didn't want to talk in front of the kids, or maybe she didn't want to talk at all.

\- They picked you up in one?-

He watched her shoulders sag, and then heard the clicking of the keys on her computer again.

\- We rode in one. Through Tehran.-

He remembered reading the report. In the days after she'd come home, he'd wanted to know everything - to read every report. He wanted to know what caused the sad haunted look in her eyes; what caused her to whimper and cry in her sleep. He'd gotten through three reports before he started drinking. He found his hand clutching a whiskey bottle like it was a lifeline, and he decided it was time to quit - both the reading and the drinking. _It's great to learn! 'Cause knowledge is power!_ The old children's song taunted him. Yeah, knowledge is power -it has the power to completely shatter your heart.

-You want me to ask them pull over? We could take two cars-

She looked up at him then, rolling her eyes and shaking her head. He grinned at her and said out loud. "Over protective?"

"Maybe." She set aside her laptop and leaned back against him. "I'm going to sleep and use you as my pillow. You don't mind, do you?"

"Hell, no." He squeezed her shoulder. "Soon as you fall asleep I'm feeling you up."

"Dad!" Stevie exploded from behind them.

"I thought you were listening to music." He turned to look at her.

"I am now!"

Elizabeth laughed and the beautiful sound of it nearly made him cry. "You've traumatized her." She said.

"Nah," He told her. "She's just a child. Doesn't even know what we are talking about, do you honey?"

"I'm going to be a nun when I grow up." She smiled at her parents before settling back in the seat.

"See," Henry said pulling Elizabeth back against his chest. "Now, go to sleep."

She sighed resting against him. He ran his fingers through her hair and it wasn't long before her breathing evened out in sleep. He relaxed, hoping she'd stay asleep until the reached the comforting familiarity of the farm.

***MS***

She'd forgotten about the icy coldness of nighttime. ELIZABETH MCCORD wrapped herself in her sweater, and went down to where her family was gathered around the fireplace.

"Why is it so cold? Was it always this cold?" She asked, sitting down beside Alison on the couch.

"No. I asked Ben to come out and turn the thermostat on, but apparently he never got the message. I forgot how bad cell reception is out here. I should've called his landline." Henry told her. He sat near the hearth with Stevie curled in a chair next to him. She was bundled under a blanket. Jason sat in the matching chair wearing his parka.

"I'm perfectly warm." He said grinning. He waved at his mother, revealing the snow gloves that covered his hands. "I tell you, this is the life."

"See, that sounds sarcastic, honey." She said to him.

"That's because it is." He told her. "Is it possible that when we remember home, we forget some of the stuff that used to bug us? I don't remember our cell phones not working."

"That's because we didn't know what it was like for them to actually work, dummy." Alison told him. "And you didn't really have one yet, remember?"

"That's right. We got it for you when we moved." Henry said remembering. "You were so excited. You hugged me and said I was the best dad in the whole world." Henry grinned at Jason. "And then you never said another word to me again - just stared at your phone - all day, every day!"

They all laughed out loud, and Jason waved a gloved hand at them. "That's only mostly true. I'm not sure I hugged you."

"Okay, we are all here, freezing together." Elizabeth said looking over at Henry. "Now?"

"Now is good." He nodded. "You have it?"

"Yep." She said.

"What's going on?" Alison asked turning to look at her mother.

"Well, we sort of skipped over your birthday." Elizabeth said.

"That's an understatement!" Jason muttered.

"Jason, don't be a complete idiot." Stevie said, reaching over and hitting his foot with her hand.

"Hey, your mother is talking." Henry said to them, and they immediately stopped.

Elizabeth would've laughed except that she knew it stemmed from some of the darkest days the McCord family had ever faced. She sighed softly, and immediately regretted it when they all turned toward her, concern on their faces.

"Oh, that's alright." Alison said. "It's no big deal."

"Sixteen is a big deal, Noodle." Henry said. "And your mother and I had planned this nice dinner in the city, which we are still going to do - when things settle."

"Really?" She smiled. "Thank you. That's perfect."

"Now, I remember why you decided on three." Henry said to Elizabeth, who laughed at this.

"Remember, you used to say that she was some kind of advertising plant to convince people to have more kids."

"Those big eyes, and that sweet little voice, remember?" Henry agreed.

"Alison?" Jason pointed at his sister. "Really?"

"Oh, she was the sweetest little baby." Elizabeth said, running a hand through Alison's long hair. "You, on the other hand, were an unholy terror. You couldn't wait to climb and jump off of things. I would put you down for a nap, and I swear, I walked back in two minutes later, and you'd climbed up the curtains."

"I am an adventurer." Jason declared proudly.

"From the day you were born!" Elizabeth agreed.

"We're getting off track." Henry said.

"I'm sorry, I didn't realize that we had a strict agenda, Professor." She said to him.

"It's late, and I'm freezing." He pointed out. "And right now Ali thinks dinner out is the sum total of her birthday wishes."

"She's content." Elizabeth pointed out, wrapping an arm around Ali's shoulders. "That's the entire point of our digression."

"I am." Alison said. "I don't need presents."

"Well, too bad." Henry said to her.

"When Stevie turned sixteen, I gave her that pearl ring that used to be my mother's." Stevie held out her hand, wiggling her fingers to show it. "And I don't have any other rings that were hers, but I have this." She handed Alison a small jewelry box. Surprised Alison took the box, and opened it.

"She used to wear that chain around her neck. My father gave it to me when I left for boarding school. He put a locket on it with her picture inside." She subconsciously put her hand to her neck, but she wasn't wearing any jewelry.

"What happened to your locket?" Alison said, suddenly distracted. She set the box aside and faced her mother.

"It's gone." Her father said, when Elizabeth remained silent. "Mom put it on a new chain before . . ." He paused. "We had already wrapped the locket up before Mom went to Iran."

"You don't have your locket anymore?" Stevie asked. "Oh, Mom."

Elizabeth glanced over at Henry, swallowing down tears,overwhelmed with the sweetness. He nodded at her, his own eyes bright with tears.

"We should get you a new one, Mom." Jason said. "I know it won't be the same, but . . ."

"I was thinking the same thing, bud." Henry told him.

Alison ran a hand lovingly over the chain, lifting it out of the box she held it reverently in her fingers.

"You should keep the chain, Mom. Your locket is gone and I am sure your Mom would want you to have it." She said softly. "It is special."

Elizabeth ducked her head, unable to speak for a moment. "No, Noodle. We want you to have it now. You are special. We want you to remember that always." She took the chain from Ali's fingers, and unlocked the clasp. She reached around Ali's neck, and waited while Alison lifted her long, dark hair. She fixed the clasp, and the gold chain fell against Alison's skin. Elizabeth smiled at her youngest daughter. "It looks beautiful on you."

"Thank you." Alison said softly, wrapping her arms around her mother. "It's perfect."

***MS***

HENRY MCCORD awoke to find himself alone in bed. He sat up, looking around the room. Elizabeth had been sleeping better but she still was prone to bouts of anxiety-laden sleeplessness. Between the arrival of her missing suitcase, and the reminders of her missing locket, the weekend at the farm wasn't proving to be as restful as he had hoped. It seemed that every time he planned something just for her, the universe conspired to make it fail.

Sliding his feet into his slippers he checked the kids room. He found Elizabeth in their rooms often lately - she'd be leaning in the doorway or curled on the floor near their beds. He understood her need to reassure herself that they were protected and safe. He didn't find her upstairs and his uneasiness increased as he searched the rest of the house, and then the glowing light of the horse barn caught his eye.

He exchanged his slippers for boots, and grabbed his parka. He stepped out onto the porch but when the blast of icy cold hit him, he doubled back inside and rummaged in the closet until he found a quilt.

He expected to find her with the horses but even those giant creatures had the good sense to be asleep. He found her in the hay loft, sitting cross-legged on the floor. She'd had the good sense to put on a parka, and like him, she wore her snow boots. He stood in front of her surprised by the overwhelming sense of relief he felt.

She said nothing just looked up at him with those endless blue eyes. He unfolded the quilt, settling it around her shoulders before sitting down beside her. The upper doors to the loft were open and they sat together staring out into a sky bright with stars.

"Baby, it's cold out here!" He said.

"Looks like snow." She pointed out into the dark sky.

"Trouble sleeping?"

She shrugged her shoulders and he settled back against the hay. Even through his parka, he could feel the sharp needling of the hay against his back. He thought of the tender skin of the scar on her back, and reaching out bundled the ends of the quilt up underneath her back, trying to create a buffer of softness. She regarded him with a shy smile but said nothing. As he sat beside her in silence, he wondered at the internal demons that she struggled with - wondered why she had to struggle and why she couldn't see that her struggle was just another example of her inherent goodness.

"I was thinking about Desert Storm the other day." He said without looking at her. "I had one of those dreams again - it's been years since I had one but I guess I've been thinking too much of battles lately." He stole a glance but her face was impassive. "It was strange, riding out to the airfield, on the way to a mission, I never really felt anything at all. I guess maybe I was too focused on the business in front of me; the mission. But after it was over, riding back was different. I felt really, I don't know, not anxious exactly, just really hopped up."

"Like you've had about fifteen cappuccinos?" She asked softly.

"Yes." He agreed wondering at the strangeness of it; his wife understanding how it felt when a battle had ended - a fellow soldier. "And it wasn't like I was going over everything that happened minute by minute. It was all there with me but sort of distant and fuzzy."

"Like it is rushing past you - a strange high-speed movie."

The dimness of the barn threw strange shadows over her face. He felt an actual physical pain as he considered how much she suffered - how much she understood the anguish of surviving a terrible battle. He had gone to war to protect from the very darkness that threatened to consume her.

"I couldn't talk." Her voice was a near whisper. "I didn't say anything until Germany. I didn't have any clear thoughts, and my ears were ringing."

It took every ounce of resolve for him to remain still beside her, waiting; listening. He wanted to wrap his arms around her and hold her tight but knew that the moment was as fragile as a spider's web. He didn't want to rob her of the healing power of talking.

"I don't know how long I was there in that bunker. I felt, I don't know, not afraid exactly, but so tense. I guess I was in shock." She glanced at him. "I couldn't believe that it had all happened; that I was actually dirty, bruised and bloody. It was insane. I couldn't process it. They weren't unkind. I just . . . I didn't know anyone. And they spoke Persian mostly. I guess I just wanted someone to lie and tell me everything was going to be okay. I wanted you. I've never, ever felt such a desperate need to have you beside me ." She struggled with a sob.

"Sweetheart," He was blinded by tears, but he forced himself to remain completely still.

"President Sharif came then and I was so exhausted." She continued. "I guess it isn't true that I didn't talk until Germany. We talked. I wanted to make sure he was open to still meeting. I had to make sure he understood that it wasn't our doing. I was so desperate that it wasn't all in vain. It had to be worth all that had happened. It couldn't all be for nothing.

"That wasn't talking. That was you being the Secretary of State." He told her gently.

She looked at him, and then nodded. "Yeah, you are right." She reached over and held tightly to his hand. "I thought I'd feel happy or at least relieved to see Frank, and John and Brad, but it just made me think of Fred. It made me remember." She exhaled slowly. "They put us all together in one of the big SUVs, but they all sat behind me. No one sat beside me." She gave a wry chuckle. "I realize now that it was simply protocol, but at the time it felt like an accusation."

"Your thinking gets skewed by the circumstances."

"Yes." She agreed. "And then we were driving through the streets and I knew I was really going home. I was thinking of you. I couldn't before - I mean I thought of you the whole time but it was only then that I let myself really, truly believe, I'd be with you again. Once Fred fell, I thought . . .I really believed it was over." Her voice broke, but drawing in a deep breath, she continued tearfully. "I thought I would never see you again; never see the kids or . . ." She lowered her chin and the starlight made the tips of her lashes, with tears clinging to them, sparkle like stars. He drew in a breath undone by her beauty and by her brokenness. He wanted so badly to hold her close; to somehow heal all her wounds, but he remained where he was listening.

"And I just wanted to be home; for it to be over. I can't even explain . . .there aren't words to explain how desperately I wanted to be in your arms. I wanted to close my eyes and turn it back to before. I mean, the whole thing was ridiculous! I'm an analyst for God's sake! I'm not the guy in the field! And I quit all that! I'm a soccer mom!" She rose, the quilt falling to the ground. She paced in front of him. "And I kept thinking that if I could just get home, everything would be alright. I just kept thinking if you were with me, I'd be okay. And I felt so jittery and numb all at the same time. And everything hurt- my body, my heart. I remembered that poem you wrote? Remember? You left it on my dorm room door. "'A patch of blue sky in the middle of the storm brings healing to a battered soul.'"

He blushed at the memory. His words written decades ago when he'd first been captivated by her goodness; her beauty.

_Her radiant smile eliminates all darkness; extinguishing all my fears;_

_The bluest eyes; a patch of blue sky in the middle of the darkest sky of this storm brings healing to my battered soul._

_I fall endlessly into the depths of her goodness; the sweetness of her wild heart_

It was still true - it was _more _true now. He studied her face as she paused to lean on a stacked bale of hay behind her. Her limbs hanging loose, her shoulders low, her face filled with pain and sorrow.

"I looked out the window of the SUV hoping for a patch of blue sky - I thought 'I'll reach out to the heavens for a sign. Henry would say to look for the goodness and the beauty.'" She swallowed hard and paused. "I looked up and this fluttering caught my eye. And I was thinking 'laundry! Someone's got their laundry out drying in the sun'. And I felt this rush of. . . I don't know - hope maybe. " She paused, her brow furrowed in concentration. "I thought, if someone is doing laundry well, everything must be okay."

"Babe, hey, you don't have to . . ." He rose to stand in front of her, fearing what was to follow. The urge to protect her - even from her own painful memories- too strong to ignore.

"But it turned and I realized it wasn't laundry. It was a body. It was a body hanging. And then I saw them . . . All around us, bodies hanging from the street signs." A sob escaped her. "I tried to pray." She whispered. "I wanted to do something - say a prayer or I don't know something, but I couldn't . . .I tried but I couldn't even remember the words to Our Father. And I felt completely alone."

He pulled her against his chest but she resisted, and instead looked up into his face, "Faith is a bell unrung." She quoted. "_You_ said that, but I didn't understand it. Henry, how could you . . . I've said it a billion times - that you are a brilliant religious scholar but never appreciated the truth of it. I was surrounded by darkness and when I tried to reach out, God was silent, just like you said."

"Okay," He said moving in closer to her, unable to manage the depth of her brokeness. "Baby, shhh." She allowed him to wrap his arms around her. He lowered them both so they sat on the barn floor with her sitting on his lap, her head resting against his shoulder.

"They must have been someone's husband. Don't you think? Maybe they had daughters and sons who would cry for them - just like Stevie, Alison and Jason. Maybe right now their wife is weeping because all she wants is to be held in her husband's arms just like you are holding me."

"Don't, Elizabeth, it doesn't help. Try not to think so much, sweetheart."

"No, you don't understand." She sat back so she could look in his eyes. "I understand all those things - that they were people just like me - had families, hope, plans for future days, but when I saw them hanging there dead, I was glad. I kept thinking about Fred's granddaughter and Zahed's wife and sons, and I wanted all of them dead." She hung her head, shamefully. "I felt actual happiness. I thought, 'Good!' And then I couldn't pray. I felt utterly alone. Maybe. . .maybe God is silent for a reason. Maybe He goes silent because He has to turn away from the darkness in our hearts."

"Oh, God, Elizabeth. No, sweetheart."

He pulled her in tight and she nestled tight against his shoulder. He could feel her whole body trembling. She whispered softly, her lips brushing his ear. "Henry? Do you think I can be forgiven?"

The question pierced him. _Do you think I can be forgiven?_ He'd once asked a priest the same thing after returning from Desert Storm. His voice failed him. He wanted to weep utterly for his sweet, wife so deeply wounded by darkness and hatred. His own battle scars were manageable but hers were unbearable. How could he comfort her - how could he help her see herself as she truly was? She wept against his shoulder, shaking in his arms, and he rubbed soothing circles over her back, fighting to regain his voice.

"Elizabeth," He was desperate for her to understand. "Elizabeth, listen to me. You are kind. You are good. You think of others all the time."

"No." She said, clinging tightly to him. "No. They all died because . . ."

"They died because people made evil decisions. How are you guilty? Because you tried to prevent it? Because when you were hurt by it, you were angry?" He had to pause, overcome with emotion. "Baby, God is silent because He is weeping for His good, sweet child so badly wounded." He pushed back from her, just enough to meet those endless blue eyes that had so captivated him with their pure, sweet goodness, decades ago. "Elizabeth, God is silent because He is crying for you."

***MS***

The sun was high in the sky, by the time ELIZABETH MCCORD awoke. She could hear the sound of her family downstairs. She rubbed at her face, grateful that for once she wouldn't have to put on a suit, and squash her poor aching feet into heels. She climbed out of bed, sliding into a pair, of jeans, and pulling on one of Henry's old sweatshirts. She flinched as the fabric brushed against her scar. She was glad the stitches were gone, but as it healed, the scar seemed to itch and ache in a way that it hadn't before. Sometimes it seemed that there was more pain in the healing of the wound than in the receiving of it. Henry would find a sermon in that somewhere. Although, on reflection, she recognized that despite being married for over two decades, she wasn't always right about what Henry thought. He had told her as much late last night.

"Babe, I wouldn't have told you to look for the good. I wouldn't have had time to tell you anything. I would've gunned down those bastards that killed Zahed right in front of you; that killed Fred. I would have been far too busy violating the laws of God and man to offer you any sage advice, sweetheart."

He'd meant it, too. She understood it. Battle changes you - makes you capable of things you couldn't imagine under normal circumstances. She could never have pictured a situation in which she would find it acceptable to lay hidden beneath a dead man, praying that whoever found her was either "good" or would believe her to be dead also.

She was finding it difficult to accept the ways that Iran had impacted her. The way it made her doubt herself, as well as the goodness of the world around her. She came back weakened. There was no denying that. She was startled sometimes by loud noises, found it impossible to even consider participating in the traditional birthday laffy string war - the fight too reminiscent of battle. She was prone to bouts of anger or tears or bleak emptiness. She found herself much more likely to turn to Henry not for reassurance, but actual support - as if, she'd suffered a wound and could not trust her legs to hold her up anymore.

She came back stronger, too. She was stronger in her resolve to make an impact - to do as Conrad had said - to make real change in the world. She was more strongly connected to who she was as a person. She wasn't willing to hesitate or make sacrifices for others. It wasn't that she would've done things differently, but more that she wouldn't have doubted herself nearly so much - and she wouldn't waste time trying to determine how the world at large perceived her decisions. She was also more strongly connected to those around her; not just Henry and her children, but her larger circle. She certainly couldn't claim cold, professional detachment when she thought of Blake huddled in the back of an SUV delicately trying to help her change her shirt. His dark eyes averted shyly, but filled with sadness and tears unshed for her.

She was not thankful for Iran. She did not suddenly see a bright patch of blue sky when thinking of it. She understood her battle with PTSD was far from over, and that it would be a part of who she was for the rest of her life. She was learning to live with that - just as she was learning to accept the small scar across her back that tingled, and ached from time to time, reminding her that she was human.

"You are awake." Henry said as she came down the stairs. "Who was closest?" He asked Jason who sat at the table.

"Wait, what time is it?" Jason looked up from a piece of paper in front of him.

"10:37." Henry said studying his watch. His smile was huge. "Good job, babe. I had 9:07. I thought there was no way you'd sleep past 9:30."

"It's after ten?" She sank into a chair, and Stevie handed her a cup of coffee.

"I had 10:23." Stevie said. "I won."

"You did." Jason agreed. "Damn! Please, don't make me muck out the stalls! I'm just a kid." He pleaded with his older sister.

"Don't be so whiny." Alison said sitting at the table across from her mother. "Did you ask her, Dad?" She looked over at her father.

"Not yet, Noodle. She just woke up and I don't think it's a good idea." His voice was hesitant.

"What?" Elizabeth asked.

"Mom, look, you can say no and it won't be any big deal. But about the laffy string war."

"Oh, honey, I don't think I can . . ." The room suddenly felt small and she found herself leaning forward struggling to breathe.

"No!" Alison continued, unaware of her mother's stress.. "No, I don't mean for you to be in it. I was just. . ."

"Elizabeth?" Henry, took the coffee cup out of her hand, setting it on the table. "Damn it! Alison, I told you to let me talk to her. You can't just . . ."

"Henry, don't. No, it's okay." Elizabeth said, taking slow even breaths as Henry stood beside her. His hand on her shoulder.

"I didn't mean to upset you." Alison said softly, tears pooling in her eyes as she realized the impact of her question.

"I know, Noodle." Henry's voice was filled with regret. "I'm sorry I shouldn't have yelled at you, honey."

"Mama, I'm sorry." Her giant brown eyes were filled with tears. "I didn't mean it."

"No, of course not." Elizabeth said rising and wrapping her arms around her daughter. Focusing on Ali made it possible for her to calm her racing heart. "Baby, it's okay. I understand. You were just asking. I know this is what we have done every birthday until now. I am sorry I haven't been able to . . ."

"Mom, it is fine. You don't have to be a part of it. I was just thinking. What if we did it without you? You could just watch or if that was too . . . you could go out for a ride."

And so for the sake of her daughter, she found herself seated on the rocker on the front porch, gripping the armrest so tightly she would have splinters in her fingers later, as her family chased each other around the yard. Normally, the laffy string war happened inside, but the idea of being trapped inside while everyone screamed and chased each other nearly sent her reaching for her bottle of pills. Holding it outside was a compromise. She really wanted to crawl back into bed and skip the whole thing. Instead, she gritted her teeth, plastered a smile across her face and determined not to freak out. And she didn't. She had even joined in at the end, surprising herself. But that was the frustrating unpredictability of her PTSD. A simulated battle between joyfully screaming family members didn't bother her at all, but Jason turning to Henry, math book in hand and asking, "Hey, dad, I can't figure this one problem out. Can you help me?" led to her breathing into a paper bag, her heart beating so hard that Henry had to promise her over and over that she wasn't having an actual heart attack.

***MS***

They rode back to the city Sunday afternoon in two smaller SUVs - the kids in one and the two of them in another. When the cars pulled up to the farm she'd looked over at Henry who just shrugged his shoulders.

"You do a pretty damn good job of making sure I never doubt you love me." She told him.

"Good." He replied with a grin.

"Two cars?" Alison asked, stepping out onto the porch with her suitcase.

"Cool!" Jason said rushing down the steps and heading for one of the cars. "Boys over here. You girls get that one!"

"No." Henry told him. "Kids in there. Your mom and I are taking this one."

"Dude, where's your fraternal loyalty?"

"I plan to make out with your mom. You wanna ride with us?" Henry asked.

"Oh, God no." Jason said climbing into the car.

"Dad!" Alison complained. "You can't just say stuff like that! You could cause us permanent damage."

"Yes." He agreed. "It would be terrible if I made it so that the very idea of kissing a boy so traumatized you that you didn't have your first kiss until you were twenty-two."

"I was twelve." Stevie said cheerfully. She bounced down the steps and climbed into the same car as Jason.

"Why . . . why would she tell me something like that?" Henry asked turning to face his wife who was laughing.

"You kind of walked right into that one, Professor." She told him.

They had made out a little on the ride back to the city. It was a simple fact of life that if she spent any amount of time with Henry J. McCord, sooner or later there would be kissing. It was as if the very atoms in her body were magnetically drawn to his. She couldn't explain it, if she tried. It simply was, or as he often said - They simply were.

As they drew close to Washington, he turned to her. She was clicking away on her laptop by then, but felt his eyes on her.

"You could quit. I wouldn't care." He told her.

She knew he meant it, too. The world at large would mock her, ridicule her for being unable to tough it out, but Henry wouldn't care. He accepted her as she was - his quiet and calm acceptance of her unreasonable rages was the most recent evidence of this.

"No, I can do this."

"I know you _can_, babe. But you don't have to. You've got nothing to prove."

She considered this. She could walk away. As he had pointed out, more than once, if she never did anything else for the rest of her days, she would still be the woman who had prevented catastrophic war. It wouldn't matter to her if the pundits talked about her being too weak or having a breakdown. Henry knew the truth and so did she - nothing else mattered.

Except, there was one thing. The very thing that had propelled her away from the safety of home and the warmth of Henry's arms; the children - the children living all over the world, as well as her own. Zahed and Fred's lives had to carry meaning - they had to have sacrificed for something worthier than Elizabeth Faulkner McCord.

"But who will speak for Abdol if I don't?" She asked. "Who else is going to face that place with Jason and Alison and Stevie in mind? I have to do this for them - for the children they will have someday. And besides, I've never been a quitter."

"No, you've never quit once." He agreed. "You seem good." He wrapped an arm around her.

"I am. It's temporary, I imagine." She sighed. "It's not like I feel better, but it is more that I feel better about not feeling better. It is more like a weird kind of acceptance of the horribleness of it, I guess. Which sounds kind of depressing when I say it out loud." She looked over at him. "It sounded inspirational inside my head."

"I'm inspired, babe. You've fully convinced me that you have accepted your humanity."

"That doesn't sound much better.' She sighed. "Well, I guess I have to ask it. You still in? Might be a good time to run screaming for the hills. You are a fairly good-looking man. I'm sure you could find a lovely second wife."

"Fairly good looking?" He raised his eyebrows at her. "I was voted third in the prettiest arm candy competition. There was a whole article about it." He told her.

"Fine. You are a very good-looking man." She said shaking her head at him.

"That's better. " He said with a grin.

"You didn't answer the question, though." She pointed out.

"Am I still in?" She nodded her head at him, and he leaned forward, kissing her cheek. "Every day, until I breathe my last, and after that if it's allowed." He said resting his chin on her shoulder. "I'll take you as you are, babe, happy, screaming, quiet, angry - breathing is my only requirement. Keep on breathing."

She laughed at this. "You've got low standards, Mr. McCord."

"No, sweetheart, I just got this one heart and it is filled completely with you, so I'd appreciate it if you kept on breathing - my heart is depending on it, Mrs. McCord."

She felt actual relief at his words, which was just another example of how Iran had changed things. Henry had always been the one constant in her life. She didn't doubt the two of them - always confident in their determined commitment to each other. But the violence of it - the violence of her own heart scared her and scarred her. _Had she become unloveable?_

She set aside the computer, fully leaning back into his arms, as the car rolled inexorably toward the Capital. She listened to the steady beating of his heart; her compass that would always lead her home.

"Henry?"

"Yeah, babe?"

"Thank you for this weekend and for . . . Well, just thank you." She found there weren't words enough to explain to him the depths of her gratefulness.

"You are welcome." He told her hugging her tightly to him. "I love you, Elizabeth."

"You make me believe that I'm still worthy of being loved." She confessed softly, turning to look into his eyes.

"I still _fall endlessly into the goodness of your wild heart." _He grinned at her. "God, I was young when I wrote that! It sounds young, doesn't it?" He laughed.

"It seems reckless, now." She told him. "To link yourself with another for . . .

"Forever." He kissed her forehead. "Trust me, Elizabeth, ok? Your heart is still good," he squeezed her tighter. "And as wild as ever. You are sweet and good. It's just difficult for you to see right now."

"Yes." She confessed.

"That's why I'm here - to keep reminding you." He kept his arms tight. "You are lovable and beloved, Elizabeth. I love you." He repeated and this time she leaned into his words, holding them tight; her strong defense against the days to come.


	19. Chapter 19

ELIZABETH MCCORD stood in front of her husband's desk waiting for a response. When he remained silent, she raised her eyebrows and said, "Henry?"

"I take it, you don't want to do it?" He said leaning back in his chair a paper in his hand.

"So you think I should?"

"I don't remember saying that." He sighed, setting the letter on his desk. "Explain it to me, babe."

"There is nothing to explain. They want to honor me."

"Ah, give you the Francis Scott Key key?" He asked with a grin.

"This is serious. They just want to have me there and trot me out so that they can remind everyone how they saved the world."

"You did that, sweetheart. Not them." He tilted his head studying her thoughtfully. "So what's the problem?"

"Didn't you read it?" She asked.

"Yes, a night honoring you and your heroic actions." He quoted. "But you don't want to go?"

"It's inappropriate."

"Why?"

"Henry!" Her hands rounded into fists. "Don't be . . ."

"Hey," He rose and faced her. "I just want you to think it through. I don't understand. Explain it to me."

"They are honoring _me_." She tilted her head, waiting.

"And you aren't honorable? You didn't do anything difficult or costly?"

"Fred was heroic. The DS Agents who died protecting me, and the families they left behind are heroic."

"I agree." He put his hands on her shoulders. "And they should be honored and remembered. And they have been. I've attended seven different ceremonies with you, babe."

"I know."

He squeezed her shoulders gently, pausing to kiss her cheek. "But what you did was heroic, too."

"No. You know it was out of desperation. You know me. Henry, don't . . ."

"I do know you, babe. You aren't great at accepting praise, even when you've earned it. I was here. I _do_ remember. I was standing right there," He pointed out the entryway just beyond them. "I stood right there fighting every desire to forbid you to go, as you stood in front of me shaking with fear and fighting tears, when you kissed me good-bye!" He hugged her to himself, "I am not some stranger looking at this from the distance and glossing over details so it will fit some Hollywood plot. This is me. I _know_ you. This was filled with doubt and fear and desperation, I get that babe. But it was also really brave. I served in Afghanistan, baby. You know that. And it is the bravest goddamn thing I've ever seen."

"I was terrified. Henry, I just lay there and sobbed. There's nothing brave in that."

"You travelled to a dangerous country with almost no security to deliver a world-changing message to a man who you had developed a tenuous diplomatic relationship with hoping that he wouldn't change his mind about the United States Government; hoping he wouldn't just have you shot."

Her eyes grew wide with surprise. She'd never told him this - that she wasn't entirely sure that Javani, himself, wouldn't use her secret trip as an opportunity to prove to his own leadership that he was a true and loyal son. She didn't really know if he wasn't already aware of the coup. She took a chance and prayed she was right.

"I never told you any of that." She said softly.

"I never told you that I was pretty damn sure that _was_ our last night together."

"Henry!" Her eyes pooled with tears. "I'm sorry."

His sudden laughter, surprised her.

"Sweetheart, I'm sorry but it's just so completely like you. You going to apologize for Middle Eastern/American tension?" He put his hands on her shoulders. "Even then," He said resting his forehead against hers. "Even watching you sleep that night and thinking about how I'd spend the rest of my days longing for you to be back with me again - even then I understood that you had to go - that I couldn't hold you back."

"I didn't want to do it." She confessed softly. "How can they honor that?"

"But that's why it is so honorable, baby! 'It is possible to evade a multitude of sorrows by cultivating an insignificant life.' You could've stayed home and sent someone else or sent an email. But you didn't! You did what needed to be done even though you were terrified."

"But they sacrificed everything." She protested.

"Yes, they did, so that you could still be here - so you could finish the work."

She said nothing more, resting against his chest and listening to the comforting beating of his heart.

"'He is the best man who, when making his plans, fears and reflects on everything that can happen to him, but in the moment of action is bold.' Even Herodotus thinks your actions were brave."

"So you think I should go?"

"I think you should do what _you_ think you should do. Conrad's pressuring you?"

"It would be good press." She sighed. "It would help and it's Jackson really. He doesn't want to miss a chance to boost Conrad's numbers."

"I bet he doesn't." He kissed her again and then stepped away from her, lifting the letter from his desk. "But that's politics, babe and you are no politician."

"I'm not." She agreed with a shy smile.

He held a the letter out to her. "The press will be there and it says here you get to make a speech." He grinned up at her, "Got something you want to say, baby?"

"Always." She replied with a mischievous wink.

***MS***

". . . And so, the Senator claimed he'd never heard anything about it." Matt said, a smile on his face.

"Which is when they handed him the pictures of him standing dead center at the meeting he'd never even heard about." Jay continued, laughing.

The staff was gathered around the conference table and had been for nearly an hour. It appeared that the meeting was winding down. They had dissolved into a discussion regarding the recent political demise of the Senator from Iowa.

"He just stood there staring at those pictures. You could see the wheels spin as he tried to figure out what to say." Daisy added.

"His face was a cartoonist's dream." Matt added.

"I don't understand. Every time something like this happens, they choose to hunker down and deny. It never works! They know. They are guilty and they know the people investigating know they are guilty, and yet they continue to lie." Nadine shook her head.

"Only the innocent ever confess." Blake offered with a wink at his boss.

"Alright." Elizabeth McCord said. "So, Jay, you'll get into the Italian trade agreement. I just want to make sure that we aren't encouraging something that is going to lead to the devastation of the Spotted Porcupine or destroy the last remaining natural habitat for butterflies. And Matt, I need you to go over those remarks one last time. I'm meeting with the Chancellor tomorrow and I thought the verbiage was still a little awkward."

There was a general nodding of heads and they all began to gather their things and disperse to their offices when Secretary McCord began hesitantly, "There is just one other thing . . ." They sat back down, but she remained silent for a moment.

"Ma'am?" Nadine asked quietly.

"I, uh, well it is last minute so I'll understand completely if any of you are unable to . . ." She paused again. "This Friday there's a reception and dinner and I've heard the food will be amazing, and there's talk of someone pretty big performing but I'm not sure who and . . ."

"Are you trying to convince us to attend the Heroes Banquet?" Matt asked.

"See, I don't even like the name." She lifted a hand in protest. "And that isn't what it is called anyway."

"No. Everyone in town just calls it that. It's impossible to get tickets. Last year, U2 opened the event. It's one of the biggest events in DC." Daisy explained.

"Yes. So I've been told."

"And you have tickets? Enough for all of us?" Matt asked, clearly impressed.

"Actually, I'm . . . Well . . . I'll be speaking."

"Oh my God! You are introducing the keynote speaker!" Daisy jumped up. "But ma'am! This is amazing! I can't believe you're just telling us this. They had to have asked you weeks ago!" She smiled broadly. "Who is being honored this year? Last year it was that handsome army ranger! I would have loved introducing him!"

"I haven't heard anything about who they are honoring this year. Usually there are rumors by now. Who is it, ma'am?" Jay asked.

"Well, I'm not actually introducing anyone." She answered.

"You said you were speaking." Jay was clearly confused. "Didn't you?"

"I am speaking. I'm just not introducing anyone."

Blake glanced at Nadine who raised a questioning eyebrow at him but he only shrugged.

"Attending is great honor. It's a big deal just to be there, but I was hoping you had a more substantial role." Daisy said sinking into her chair.

"She does." Blake said as understanding dawned. He nodded his head at Nadine.

"It's you, isn't it ma'am? You are the keynote speaker. You aren't introducing anyone. Some else is introducing you." Nadine asked turning to the Secretary of State. The room grew absolutely silent as Elizabeth McCord was uncharacteristically slow to respond.

"Yes." She said at last. Daisy opened her mouth to speak but Nadine who sat to her left grabbed her arm.

"It seems a ridiculous choice to me." She said shaking her head. "It's an honor that should go to one of our soldiers or Fred's wife. It should go to someone who . . ."

"Risked their life to stop a war?" Blake interrupted and she glared him into silence.

"But I'm not in charge of the choice and it's been pointed out to me that it would be a benefit to this administration if I were to accept, so . . ." She lifted her hands up as if in surrender. "And I would appreciate it if you could be there. I understand it is last minute but I only just accepted the invitation last week."

"Ma'am," Jay said suddenly serious. "I'm confident that I speak for all of his here in this room when I say, it would be an honor to attend."

"Yes." She said rising, clearly uncomfortable. "Thank you."

They filed out of the room ahead of her and she returned to her office with Blake at her heels. She sat behind her desk, avoiding any eye contact. "How much time do I have until my next meeting?" She asked without looking up.

"Twenty-two minutes. Not quite enough time to eat, I'm afraid." Blake answered. "But you could look online for a dress you like, and then email your choices. I can go out and pick a couple up and then you can decide."

"Why do I need a new dress?" She asked.

"For when they give you the Francis Scott Key Key." He explained and she laughed out loud.

"Blake," She admonished. "It's a really big deal."

"Oh, ma'am, since I started working for you, I've seen you uncover a conspiracy, stop a coup, free kidnapped Americans and settle endless world crisis. I'm over being impressed."

***MS***

ALISON MCCORD sat at the kitchen table working on her homework trying not to be distracted by her father, who sat across from her dressed in a tuxedo.

"We should be leaving now." He said.

Alison kept her head down, knowing that looking up would only encourage him.

"She knows it's tonight, right?" He asked.

"Dad!" She said as patiently as she could. "You always do this. She's never late. Never. But you always freak out. And I'm trying to finish this assignment. Go freak out upstairs."

"I can't."

"You can't?" She asked.

"Mom kicked him out." Jason said stepping into the kitchen and opening the refrigerator. "She called him by his full name and sent him downstairs." He sat down at the table across from her drinking a glass of juice.

"I'm gonna remember this the next time you call for male solidarity." Henry McCord said pointing a finger at his son.

"Oh, please!" Jason rolled his eyes. "The only solidarity you've got is with Mom; always."

"She kicked him out." Ali offered. "Poor Dad; a man without a country."

"You know, Stevie's always been my favorite."

They both found this hilariously funny and rising, Jason said, "That's a good one, Dad." He continued upstairs and Henry turned toward Alison.

"Why is that funny?"

Alison grinned. "Dad, c'mon. Stevie? Everyone knows you like me best."

"I'm his _only_ son!" Jason called from upstairs.

Henry opened his mouth to reply but just then Elizabeth descended the stairs. She wore a long black dress with thin straps. The dress hugged her curves and he found himself briefly at a loss for words; at a loss for oxygen.

"Sorry." She said adjusting the heel of her shoe. "But honestly Henry, we are right on time. The car just pulled up." She turned to Alison. "What do you think? Or should I wear the red shoes?"

"You look gorgeous, Mom. No, I like these better. The red is too obvious."

"Henry!" Elizabeth said, realizing her husband hadn't moved. "I'm ready! Let's go and get this over with."

"You are beautiful." He said and Alison blushed at the sound of her father's voice. His eyes were huge and fixed on his wife. He rose and wrapping an arm around her mother leaned in to kiss her. Much as Alison complained about her parent's constant kissing, it filled her with a peaceful contentment too.

"Enough." Her mother said, her cheeks pink with delight. "The car is waiting."

"Can't help it." He said kissing her cheek. "I'll get your coat.

"We'll be back late." Her mother said as her father left the room to get her coat. "Or really early if I chicken out."

"Mom!" Alison laughed. "It's just a speech. You make 500 of them a day!"

"Are you going to watch?" Her mother asked and Alison's brows wrinkled in perplexity, for it was clear that her mother was nervous.

"Of course."

"Okay. Just . . ."

Alison left her books and crossed to her mother, wrapping her arms around her. "Mom, you'll do fine. And it's just them saying thank you. They should say thank you."

Elizabeth McCord said nothing, accepting Alison's hug and kissing the top of her head. "Thank you, Noodle."

"Babe?" Henry McCord held her long white wool coat, "Time to go."

Alison smiled up at her mother and said, "Have fun. You pretend you are talking about someone else." She stepped away and watched as her mother slid her arms into her coat.

"Don't stay up too late." Her father said.

"Have a good time."

***MS***

ELIZABETH MCCORD held tightly to Henry's hand as the entered the glittering ballroom. It had taken them nearly half an hour to cross the room. They were stopped nearly every step by someone who wanted to shake her hand or offer congratulations. She figured that if she ever made it to their table she'd be too exhausted to speak. She was never so happy to see her staff even if they all stood and fussed as she approached. Uncomfortable with their focus her eyes landed on Abigail, Jay's wife.

"Abigail you look wonderful!" She gushed. "And you tore yourself away from that sweet baby!"

"Yes, ma'am. I wouldn't miss it." She smiled warmly accepting the Secretary of State's embrace.

"I told her you took no input on your speech. She's curious to see if we actually do you any good." Jay said winking at her.

"Sweetheart, here." Henry handed her a glass of champagne which gladly accepted.

"I was hoping this shindig included booze . . ." She began but before she could even take a sip, Blake approached.

"Pardon me, ma'am?" Blake interrupted. "They need to mic you and test the levels."

Sighing she handed Henry her flute of champagne and followed Blake as he led her backstage. By the time she returned to the table, they were all eating and laughing. They rose as she approached but she waved them back to their seats.

"See anyone interesting backstage?" Daisy asked hopefully.

"Well, Justin."

"Timberlake?" Her eyes grew wide.

"I don't know his last name." She teased, taking a sip of champagne. "He's in charge of sound tonight."

"She gets ornery when she's nervous." Henry explained.

"I'm not nervous." She told him but he only grinned, raising an eyebrow at her.

"Ma'am? Who's introducing you?" Matt asked

"I don't know." She said, surprised she hadn't thought to ask. "Justin Timberlake, perhaps?"

"Maybe your pal Bob Schieffer." Henry suggested.

Just then a young man approached the table. "Pardon me for interrupting Madam Secretary, but you will need a mic."

"They already . . ." But suddenly she realized that the second part of his sentence was addressed to Henry.

"Henry!" Her voice rose in pitch. "What?"

He rose quickly. "I'll be right there." He told the young man. "_Now_, you're nervous!" He laughed leaning to kiss his shocked wife's cheek. "I'll see you up there, babe."

"Did you know about this?" She turned to Nadine who sat to her left. Nadine shook her head. Everyone at the table seemed to be as surprised as she was except one who wouldn't make eye contact with her.

"Blake!" She said shocked.

"Ma'am to be fair, he only told me this afternoon, and also, I hadn't seen you until just a few minutes ago so it wasn't like I hid it from you. I'm sure the subject would've come up eventually."

"Uh, huh." She shook her head at him disdainfully. "You just got any mention of you removed from my speech."

She reached for her champagne glass and looked around the room which was filled with an odd mix of politicians and celebrities.

_"How the hell did we get here?" _ She wondered, and then Henry stepped out on stage.

***MS***

They sat across from each other in the car. It was nearly two in the morning and she was exhausted and slightly drunk. She'd had one last glass of wine just before they'd left and she could feel its effects already.

"So," Henry said at last. "How mad are you?"

"I'm not mad." She said.

"Then why are you sitting way over there? Babe, they asked me and I said yes."

"And you never mentioned it to me."

"You'd have told me not to do it." He sighed. "Don't be mad. I was very sweet."

"You were." She agreed. "You are."

"So forgive me." He moved to sit beside her, and wrapped his arm over her shoulders. His fingers brushed along the soft, smooth skin of her shoulder.

"I'll think about it." She sank back in the seat resting her head against his chest. She listened to the steady thumping if his heart. He said nothing more to her but instead hummed softly as his hands massaged her shoulder and neck. He leaned closer, his lips brushing her ear as he whispered softly, "I meant every word, Elizabeth. I will love you until the stars fade."

***MS***

"In case, you aren't sure who I am," Henry told the crowd. "I'm the guy who stands next to Elizabeth Faulkner McCord. I have been standing next to her since I was twenty-three years old. And before that I was the guy staring at her from a distance, trying to think of something clever to say so that she would let me stand next to her." He smiled.

"They asked me to introduce her to you, and I immediately agreed. You see, there's nothing I love more than talking about my wife - except kissing her." He winked. "But chances are pretty good you already know who she is. Still, I'll talk about her anyway. Of course, right now, she Is pretty irritated with me because she had no idea I was going to introduce her." He nodded his head at her.

"Whenever I hear the word Iran I am simultaneously filled with absolute terror and absolute pride. There is no denying that what my wife achieved was nothing short of astounding. She has been called the architect of the Iran Peace Treaty. I have no argument with that or with her being recognized tonight. She deserves this award and more beside. Of course, I have said she deserves the moon and stars since the first day I met her so my view might be slightly skewed."

"I never expected to see a peace treaty in my lifetime and yet it is a part of history now and she is the reason why. It was her work. It was her effort. _She _rushed headlong into danger. Now, she's going to come up here and explain that it was a group effort and came about as the work of many people, but we know that isn't the truth."

"The truth is my wife, who weighs less than the suitcase she travels with, got on a plane and walked straight into a war zone. She left the safety of our home and her family who loves her so dearly, and risked everything so that we could have peace." He paused thoughtfully, trying to calm his racing heart.

"I can't even think about her time in Iran; I can't. It was all I could do to stand beside her when she spoke of it on Face the Nation. Our youngest daughter, as we waited to learn if she'd survived the attack said 'The thing is it is so easy to forget how small she really is - she seems so much larger than life.' And she is. I've known her for over twenty-five years and she amazes me everyday. She is intelligent, strong, and unfailingly calm. She can see every side to an argument and is the most beautiful person I've ever known. She radiates goodness and charm, and commits fully to any task. She is willing to risk her life for the good of her country which are just a few of the reasons that I admire her more than anyone I have ever known. And it is why it is my great honor to introduce to you the architect of the Iran peace treaty, the Secretary of State, the mother of our three sweet children and my beautiful wife, Elizabeth Faulkner McCord." He stepped back, waiting as she rose and ascended the stage. They met to the side of the stage as she embraced him, thunderous applause all around them.

"Henry. . ." She said hugging him tight. "You should have told me!"

"No fighting." He whispered into her hair. "The world is watching."

"They are always watching! I can't believe you! The things you said . . ." He grinned as her face grew flush with color. "Henry."

"I adore you, babe. I do." He kissed her cheek. "And I love listening to you talk so . . ." He moved back from her so he could see her face. They held onto each other's arms and the room around them faded into the background.

"This is just a show, Henry. None of it is real."

"The part where I admire you and think you are worthy of this show is real. Their admiration of you is too."

"They don't know me. It's just a headline."

"The ones at that table know you and they are on their feet applauding so, maybe it is real. Listen, Elizabeth. Listen to them clapping. You didn't get here because you're a politician. You got here because you are you, and nothing gets in the way of you making a better future for your children - not even gunfire. Not even heartache."

"Now, how am I supposed to go up there and talk?" She asked looking up at him, her eyes bright with tears.

"You can do it. I'm pretty convinced there's nothing you can't do." He kissed her. "Go on, babe, they are waiting."

"They can wait." She said, leaning forward to give him a kiss.

***MS***

"Well, she hasn't even spoken yet and Twitter is blowing up." Daisy said showing her phone to Matt.

"Life just got more impossible for every man on the planet." Matt said with a sigh.

Jay laughed and leaning over gave his wife a kiss. "It does sort of make us all look pretty sad."

"You do all right." Abigail said with a smile.

"She complains about the press camped out in front of their house everyday and then they do this!" Blake said with a sigh. "They'll be relentless again."

"Well, you can always hope that she blows _her_ part of the speech." Nadine offered hopefully.

"Have you met the woman?" Blake asked shaking his head.

***MS***

"Wow." Alison said turning to look at Stevie.

"The kissing. I mean they are on stage for God's sake." Jason said lifting an arm and gesturing toward the tv.

"I think it is romantic." Alison said. "I don't know. What guy is ever gonna live up to that?"

"That's his plan, Ali. The more amazing he is, the less likely you are to run off with some biker dude who treats you like dirt."

"Thanks, Professor." Ali said rolling her eyes at her older sister. "It's a good thing you are here to guide me through my trepidatious adolescence."

Stevie shook her head at the tv. "Don't kid yourself, kid. It works. We are never going to find a guy like that."

"Not unless you find someone twenty years older than you!" Jason teased, ducking when Stevie angrily threw a pillow at him.

"Shut up!"

"Don't be a jerk, Jason." Ali told her little brother. "You don't understand. Stevie was really. . ."

"Shut up both of you." Stevie said. "Mom's talking."

***MS***

_AUTHOR'S NOTE_

_Okay, I admit it. I've got ONE more chapter. It would be mean to leave it here. I'm still getting people asking me what was in the note she wrote to Henry, so I better not leave off her speech. Enjoy this tiny piece for now and I'll get back to it._


	20. Chapter 20

ELIZABETH MCCORD moved to the center of the stage wishing suddenly for the comfort of a podium to hide behind. Looking out across the room at first she saw a blur of unknown faces, and then her gaze settled on the table nearest the stage. For the briefest of moments she allowed her eyes to rest on each member of her staff.

Daisy and Matt, both ever determined to look for a way to take every moment and every decision and turn it into greatness. The two of them stood close together and she nearly laughed at their ridiculous belief that they were keeping their relationship a secret.

Jay sat with one hand around his wife's shoulders. The two of them bore the tired but joyful look of all new parents. She appreciated that he was bold enough to argue with her - sometimes he reminded her of Joey. They shared a similar sharp intellect.

Nadine smiled up at her, meeting her gaze. She had been slow to warm to her - the wall of the past ever separating them, and yet she had slowly, over time, seen a softening in her chief of staff's manner. And it wasn't lost on her that in the dark days after her return from Iran, it was Nadine who kept the staff together. It was Nadine who had calmed the staff after paramedics had taken her away. It was Nadine who had somehow allowed her to keep her dignity in tact, despite her endless outbursts after Iran.

And then there was Blake.

She had come to think of Blake as a small extension of home - the little brother she'd never had but always wanted. He was awkwardly protective of her, and had shown a compassion beyond his years in the days after Iran. He alone was brave enough to meet her at the airfield. Seeing him standing waiting for her had overwhelmed her and she had staggered so that Frank had to keep an arm around her, literally holding her up as she walked to him.

Her eyes met Henry's last. He had returned to his seat and he winked at her. She shook her head at him, her emotions much too raw to consider him with any honesty. She determined instead to be angry with him for keeping her in the dark.

She recognized she'd been standing in silence a beat too long. The audience shifted uncomfortably and drawing in a deep breath, she began.

"I am sorry." She grinned sheepishly. "I was just standing here thinking about my staff. We've been through a lot together, and it comforts me to see them here tonight. They've had my back through some of the most difficult days I've ever known, and so I know they'll stand by me if my speech completely bombs." She smiled and the audience laughed politely.

"I appreciate so much that I was chosen for this award but it is hard to feel worthy. Last year the award was given to Micael W. Schnieder. He was an army ranger who prevented the deaths of nearly a hundred men when he single-handed took out a squad of terrorists." She paused considering the sacrifice the young soldier had made.

"Two years ago, it was given to the widow of Principal Adam Geseki who gave his own life to stop a gunman from killing his students. And the year before that it was given to Melissa Watkins a twenty-two year old Marine who lost an arm and both her legs saving the lives of the men in her company." She paused and moved to the edge of the stage.

"I am a college professor and mother of three, recently turned world diplomat! It feels strange to stand here; to rub shoulders with such amazing bravery and sacrifice." She looked back to her staff.

"And when I think of the countless number of everyday ordinary people who stand up against injustice without any recognition, it's hard to accept that I am here."

"I've spent a lot of today thinking about those who travelled with me to Iran and died there. The Diplomatic Services Agents who died protecting me are never far from my thoughts. I cannot forget them or their families who have endured such heart breaking loss."

"This peace treaty was costly. It can be easy to forget that if you are reading it as a headline but when you are inside the story, you know that it came about due to the endless toil of those who will never stand on a stage and receive recognition; that it came about because of those who sacrificed everything so that the work could go on."

She hesitated briefly, but when she continued, her voice was clear and strong, "I am amazed to be standing here today. Actually, if I were honest, I'm amazed to be standing anywhere. I truly did not expect to return from Iran."

"The other night my family and I were goofing around - normal, everyday teenage kid stuff - teasing, wrestling, and laughing. And at the same time I was there with them enjoying it - grateful to be with them - to be alive and home I also felt such a bitter ache because I know Fred Cole's family longs for those days that will never come again. His wife and their children and his sweet granddaughter, Bella, will never again have a day like that because he dove across the room into a hail of bullets to protect me. And it's difficult to carry that. It's an experience that happens frequently to me now. My husband and I, my children, we all bear the scars of that attack. We carry the weight of what it cost. And it makes it difficult to accept this award tonight. I am just an ordinary woman; I'm a wife and a mother, and boss to this crew and employee to the President."

She swallowed hard, fighting to keep control. "In preparing for this, I watched the speeches from the past. I listened to Melissa Watkins, and to Michael Schneider and Angela Geseki and all of them said the same thing. We are just ordinary people caught up in an extraordinary situation and in that moment did what needed to be done because we were there. I did what had to be done because I was there and I could do it. And I don't honestly know if that makes my actions heroic. I don't know."

"Honestly, I was terrified when I went to Iran, but standing in Zahed Javani's house in the minutes before the attack, it was clear that this was an extraordinary time - an extraordinary day. I had to go, even if it cost everything. I had to act. It is the same thing described by Michael and Melissa - we had to act."

"And when I think of it all, I recognize that this is a truly ordinary and human action. We all feel it - the need to stand up to a bully, to reach out to a stranger, to take a friend's hand or to cross the room and talk to a pretty girl. There is a bravery in all those acts. And in those moments we don't consider figures or facts. We don't follow convention or protocol. We act as our heart directs. We act for the good of others. We display our humanity; the things that connect us all - that can unite us across oceans and despite our different beliefs."

She turned to look directly at the upturned faces of her staff, and at Henry.

"I'm here accepting this, but it belongs to all of us - the hours you put in. The way you struggled so hard to bring me back. I am grateful and know I wouldn't be here today if it wasn't because of all of us working together. Thank you. And you," She pointed a long arm at Henry, her voice breaking. "You know all that you've done, and I _am_ still mad at you for not telling me you were introducing me tonight, but I am so grateful for you and your patient support." The crowd laughed at this and she was able to continue.

She turned and looked out at the room, "Thank you for this award. It is an honor. I accept it on behalf of everyone who fought so hard to bring peace between our two countries, and in memory of those who died for that peace. Let it be just the beginning. Let all of us, from the largest nation to the smallest child remember that the future is carried on our shoulders and we must be ever vigilant to protect it. Thank you."

***MS***

"So, you've officially forgiven me, then?" Henry asked her breaking away from their kiss. They rode in the back of the SUV through the early morning darkness.

"I'm still on the fence." She answered coyly.

"You require more convincing?"

"Yes."

"Well, that will have to wait until we are home. I don't do my best work in the back of a car."

"Well, I'm a little drunk, babe, your best work might be lost on me." She said resting her head against his shoulder.

"You did fantastic, babe. I told you that, didn't I?"

"You did." She sighed. "You did alright yourself. You are pretty good with words - for a fighter pilot." She reached up kissing his cheek. "I bet Dalton's numbers are through the roof."

"Hell, with him! This is all you, Elizabeth."

"Enough. We need to settle back into reality, Henry. I'm not . . . I'm still a terrible cook."

"Oh, God! You are the worst cook I've ever seen! I don't understand how you can be so intelligent and yet so helpless following a recipe. It boggles the mind!" He laughed.

"Wow! Brought me right back to earth, professor!"

"But you are still amazing and I still adore you."

He kissed her again, and rubbed his fingers along the soft skin of her cheek. "And how do you feel? Do you think you can make peace with it?"

She sighed, considering his question. Could she? Could she somehow lay that horrible day to rest? "I don't know. It's a part of me now; it's a part of us." She felt herself sobering even as she spoke. "I feel the burden of it; the weight of it is still here, but," and here she had to swallow down tears. "If I'm really honest, sometimes I feel the beginning of that panic; that icy, bleak darkness that nearly swallowed me whole."

"Babe, I wish . . ."

"I know." She interrupted him softly. "I feel how much you want to fix it all but, I guess I realized that this can't be fixed not really. And it hurts us both but I was broken by it. It wounded us."

"Elizabeth, you spent this whole night talking and thinking about it, and look at you! You didn't have a panic attack. You didn't fall apart. You are strong as steel"

"I'm not. You know I'm not. And I spent fifteen minutes in a bathroom stall breathing into a paper bag." She sighed and reached out, her soft fingers tracing the outline of his face. "And you know I'll be back in Dr. Mason's office, sobbing like a lost child again next week."

"Baby, listen, none of that means you are weak."

"I know." She said with a shy smile. "And the fact that even thinking of Juliet makes me shake with fear and anguish doesn't either." She nestled back into his arms her head resting on his shoulder. "I'm just an ordinary human but these days have been extraordinary. But they aren't forever, and I'm not alone."

"No, you aren't. You are surrounded by love." He agreed.

She turned her face up to his accepting his kiss. She felt suddenly drowsy and relaxed completely against him. "I guess I am okay. It's just that okay is different than I thought it would be, and I don't know how it ends."

"Sure we do." He said softly.

"How?" She turned to look up at him.

"It ends with me and you." He smiled and her face lit up with a matching smile.

"Yes." She agreed. "It ends with us."

***MS***

_Author's Note: Well, I'm calling this one finished for now. And I will contemplate writing a story or one-shot revealing her letter to Henry. Honestly, though, I hadn't thought about what the letter would say. That's private between the two of them. I just figured she was so uber organized - she would leave him a letter. _

_I hope season two doesn't disappoint and I refuse to wish summer to speed by (I'm a teacher by trade so summer is still glorious to me) but I do wish for October! Thanks for all your patience. It took me a bit to finish this one. And yes, I do have one story I've been thinking about so . . .see you out there!_


End file.
